


Counterpoint

by Suspicious_Popsicle



Series: Mix Tape [2]
Category: Tales of Vesperia
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-20
Updated: 2013-08-20
Packaged: 2017-12-24 03:15:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 22,290
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/934647
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Suspicious_Popsicle/pseuds/Suspicious_Popsicle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Yuri didn’t need Flynn to like metal if he was going to stay, but he needed him to quit being such a fuckwit about it. Sequel to "Forte."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Here’s where everything I picked up from Hoskky about metal starts to kick in. =)
> 
> Disclaimer: The characters in this story are from Tales of Vesperia and do not belong to me.

Grinning, Yuri yanked back and forth on one end of the rope bone he and Repede were playing tug of war with. He kept up a steady stream of pet babble as they played: “You gonna get the bone? You gonna get it?” Internally, however, he was seething. If he had to listen to that pompous, know-it-all housemate of his call his band heavy metal _one more time_ because he couldn’t be bothered to remember the difference, they were not going to have a discussion about it: they were going to have a fistfight. It had reached the point where Flynn couldn’t play the ignorance card to excuse the things he said anymore. Yuri didn’t need him to like metal if he was going to stay, but he needed him to quit being such a fuckwit about it. 

Yuri had known that Flynn had his own stuff going on from day one. The guy had just reeked of desperation. He obviously hadn’t liked Yuri much, but he’d moved in anyway and his wall of stiff, put-on manners had broken down into an all-out brawl within the first week. Yuri had sort of hoped that would break the tension between them, but Flynn had remained a bundle of raw nerves and anger beneath a thin mask of control. Stupid shit set him off, and it was only because Repede had taken to him so easily that Yuri had given him the benefit of the doubt. 

Still, he’d kept picking at him and pushing him. Fights were easier to deal with than the silent, seething tension. Surprisingly, Flynn actually had some martial arts training that made him way more fun to mix it up with than the unskilled brawlers Yuri had tangled with in the past. Besides…Yuri had been curious. Flynn worked his ass off to look like he had his whole life set up just the way he wanted it. Something big was lurking under that surface, and Yuri had wanted to bring it up into the light.

He had been able to make some guesses about Flynn, largely based on gut feelings and personal experience, but he didn’t really get any confirmation until the night Flynn’d had his little blow up outside Keiv Rock. The guy had some serious issues, but at least he’d finally seemed to work out what they were. Now, although he was still prickly as hell sometimes, at least he seemed to be trying to get along. It was just really frustrating that he had taken Yuri’s reassurance that it was okay to not like metal and turned it into a green light for dismissing everything about the genre. Yuri had let that go and let it go until he was ready to beat some understanding into Flynn. He’d had plenty of time to get his shit together. It was about time he showed a little respect to a fellow musician.

Playing with Repede helped Yuri calm down. He knew that it was impossible to make any headway with Flynn while either of them was angry. Flynn had somehow wrapped Yuri up in his own issues, and Yuri had never backed down from a fight. If they couldn’t talk calmly, nothing was going to get solved because they’d just end up tearing into each other. He’d been patient for more than two months, though, and was getting sick of it. Yuri felt he’d been more than fair.

Stumbling as he pulled backward, Yuri went down onto the grass, stubbornly clutching his end of the rope bone. Repede was on him as he fell, growling playfully and still trying to twist the bone out of Yuri’s hands while climbing over him. Yuri rolled, knowing that it wouldn’t keep Repede off him, and laughed as the dog kept tenaciously after the toy he was trying to tuck beneath his body. As he turned onto his back, he let go of the bone and threw his arms around Repede in a bear hug, going from tug of war to wrestling match instantly. Repede’s tail was wagging hard enough to shake them both as he wriggled and squirmed, the toy still hanging from his mouth.

Something caught Repede’s attention. He looked up at the house, ears perked, going still. When Yuri twisted beneath him to get a look, he received several wet licks that coated his face in dog slobber. Laughing through his grimace, he pushed at Repede, trying to ward off any further display of affection. Feeling way better than he had when he’d gone out into the back yard, his good mood wasn’t even dimmed when he let his head fall back and saw Flynn coming towards them from the back door.

“Need a hand?”

Yuri whistled one sharp note, and suddenly Repede was no longer pinning him to the ground but sitting next to him, tail stirring the grass as it wagged. Dusting himself off, Yuri stood up and yanked up the hem of his shirt to wipe his face. Flynn was wearing a strange expression when Yuri finally looked at him.

“What?”

“Uh…y-your shirt.”

He glanced down and grinned. Rather than a band logo, his black tee featured a drawing of the Cookie Monster, head thrown back and mouth wide open, clothed in a black shirt and shredding on a guitar.

“It’s a joke.”

Flynn obviously didn’t get it, but Yuri was no longer surprised by that, nor by the fact that he didn’t bother to pursue it. Complete disinterest spoke volumes to how little importance he placed on Yuri’s music.

“Listen, I’m not sure what I said before, but—”

“You called Dragon Swarm heavy metal again.”

Confusion was a funny look on Flynn, which wasn’t a bad thing, seeing as he wore it often enough around Yuri nowadays. With his mouth hanging open just a little like that, he reminded Yuri of a spiky blond puffer fish, a comparison that brought out Yuri’s smirk full-force as he tried to hold back a laugh.

“I thought it was.”

“No. Like I’ve said, we’re speed metal. Why you don’t get that is beyond me.”

“What’s the difference? Isn’t that just a subgenre of metal?”

It was almost a talent the way Flynn could so quickly wear down the patience Yuri was so thoughtfully trying to maintain. He rolled his eyes before leveling a stare at him. 

“First of all, metal and heavy metal aren’t interchangeable. At this point, it would be a compliment to call you ignorant.”

“What is your problem?” They hadn’t been standing all that far apart to begin with, but Flynn was pushing right up into Yuri’s personal space. “I came out here to apologize and now you’re insulting me?”

“When I insult you, you’ll know it. Calling you ignorant is giving you the benefit of the doubt. I’ve had it with you acting like you know everything.” 

He pushed Flynn’s shoulder lightly, just enough to make him sway a bit. Flynn came back much rougher, actually shoving Yuri back a couple of steps.

“You know, I think it would be a miracle if you ever made sense.”

“Oh, come on. Don’t tell me you don’t know the difference between ignorance and stupidity.” There was a sharp edge to his smirk and he knew it. Maybe it was possible for an argument with Flynn to spark change, after all. All Flynn had to do was take the bait…. “We can _fix_ ignorance.”

“I’ve asked you to explain to me before, but you refused to even try!”

“You actually ready to listen now?”

Flynn paused, maybe realizing that he’d been caught. He calmed himself down pretty quickly, but he was only holding the anger back, not letting it go. Yuri could hear it coiled tight in his voice.

“Frankly, I think you’re full of it, but if it’ll shut you up, go ahead and try to tell me how different metal and heavy metal are.”

Yuri rolled his eyes. This crash course was going to be painful, possibly for both of them.

“After work tonight, I’m gonna give you a private show. Then, you and I are going to ZaFest in a couple days.”

“ZaFest?”

Every year at the beginning of summer break, the city of Zaphias held a two-day festival over the weekend. The whole of the downtown area, art district, and park was transformed into a collection of food stalls, artisan booths, and musical stages, all featuring local businesses and artists. It was a celebration to display the best the city had to offer and put its diversity on show. There was no way Flynn hadn’t heard of it, but his confusion was easy to understand. This was the first year that a stage had been provided for the more underground music scene, and not many people outside the community had heard about it.

“You know the old amphitheater in the park? There’s going to be a stage for metal groups and all the poor unfortunates that haven’t been categorized into slots that matter. I’m gonna give you a live introduction to some different styles.”

Yuri was familiar with some of the groups that would be performing. If Flynn couldn’t tell the difference after that, then he really was hopeless.

\------------

Working at The Atria had its fair share of perks. The job might demand impeccable service and spotless, uncomfortably stuffy clothes, but Yuri raked in more in tips than the salaried general manger made. Sure, some of the clientele used manners and breeding to be pointedly rude as fuck, but there weren’t as many of their type as Yuri had expected when he’d gotten started, and he hadn’t yet lost his temper with any of them. The job was the best he was going to get for his situation, and he couldn’t afford to lose it. It gave him the freedom to take classes during the week and still practice with Karol and Judy in the morning or afternoon on weekends and on his days off. It definitely paid the bills, and even left him with cash to invest in his music. All in all, he had it better than a lot of people out there, and he reminded himself of that as he went on break, having finally finished with a particularly assholeish customer.

Yuri regularly took his breaks in the kitchen. Working full time afforded him one on-the-house meal a shift, and he could stay out of the way in a corner and eat while he watched the chefs. He liked the barely contained chaos of the kitchen, the practiced rush to get good food out quickly. The head chef was something of a clown when he could get away with it, but he kept everyone else in his kitchen in line and hard at work. Yuri had befriended him shortly after starting, and the Wonder Chef, as he liked to be called, had taken Yuri under his wing. Whenever possible, he showed Yuri how to prepare the dishes he served up, and passed on cooking tips. It was fun and interesting, and definitely beat having nothing to fall back on for meals at home than take out or frozen dinners.

“You look pretty cheesed, Yuri!” The chef laughed as he shook a handful of blue cheese crumbles over a steak before setting it up in the pass and wiping down the edge of the plate. “Order up for 27, one steak, rare, one salmon.”

“Guy who just left was on me about everything. Got some risotto for me?”

“I had them make it up only a few minutes ago. It’s at the end of the line.”

Yuri took his meal and settled against the wall in his corner to eat. He was halfway through his shift. In another few hours, he would have to make good on his promise to play for Flynn, but if he had many more customers like that last one, he wasn’t sure he would be in the mood to deal with any more shit.

He wasn’t even sure where to start. Flynn needed a basics course but, being a music student, he ought to be able to understand on a different level from most people. Yuri didn’t get why it still hadn’t clicked for him. There were plenty of technical points and classical influences that he should have recognized. It was like he was actively trying to keep any trace of metal from contaminating that precious, classically trained brain of his. 

“Stuck up asshole,” Yuri muttered. As recently as two weeks ago, he had still been trying to give Flynn the benefit of the doubt so far as not being a music snob went. Obviously, he’d been wrong about that.

“That customer you were telling the chef about?” Hachette, a buddy from high school that Yuri had recommended for a job with the kitchen staff, leaned up against the wall next to him.

“My roommate.”

“Again? You sure can pick ‘em, huh?”

Yuri rubbed a hand over his face. “Don’t get me started.”

“All right. Dragon Swarm playing ZaFest?” The change of subject was less frustrating, but not by much.

“Dunno. Judy’s out of town. We’ve got a slot on Sunday, but whether we play or not depends on if she gets back in time.”

“Here’s hoping.” Hachette preferred a mix of stoner and progressive metal and psychedelic rock, but he caught Yuri’s band as often as he could. “You going both days?”

“Wouldn’t miss it. The Don’s put in a lot of work behind the scenes to get us a venue this year.”

“I like him. He’s a pretty chill old bird.”

Shaking his head, Yuri smiled. Sometimes he wondered if he and Hachette knew the same Don Whitehorse. They lapsed into silence as Yuri ate, which allowed his thoughts to slip back around to the question of how he was going to handle the lesson he’d proposed for later that night. He’d have to run through a basic history, no doubt about that, and get Flynn to lay off the heavy metal label. Aside from that, he needed to get Flynn to _listen_ , and whatever he listened to had to provide a bridge between his musical preferences and Yuri’s. He had no idea what to play.

“Dude, if you glare any harder at your food, it’s gonna burst into flames. What’s up?”

“I’ve finally got a chance to teach that fiddlehead a lesson, but I haven’t decided how. I was thinking that maybe I could play a classical piece, then a rock arrangement of it and something metal—sort of show the evolution of it, you know, but….” Really, he didn’t know very much rock. He had practically jumped straight from classical pieces to metal, and never learned all that much in between.

“Hmmm…. I thought you said this guy’s problem was with lyrics getting in the way of what the music is trying to tell us.”

“That’s what he told me.” Yuri frowned at his mostly empty plate and muttered: “Don’t know if I believe him anymore.”

“Well, if that’s really the problem, showing him that music can evolve won’t help. He knows that already and isn’t too happy about it.”

“Fuck.” Hachette was right. That just wasn’t going to cut it. There had to be some way to show Flynn that metal was more than the angry pop he seemed to think it was.

“You gotta show him that the music’s going somewhere _worth_ going, you know? Life’s a journey, and all that.”

Music and journeys…. Something clicked in Yuri’s brain and he grinned suddenly.

“That’s it! Hachette, don’t ever let anyone tell you that you aren’t a genius.”

“Who’d say something like that?”

Metal as a journey. That was an angle he could use. The stuff Flynn played took the listener on a journey, too. Both his music and Yuri’s had mountains and valleys, it had terrain that varied with the progression of the song. It wasn’t the cyclic treadmill of pop that could only repeat a couple phrases over and over. It could rise and drop off and change and grow—all in the same piece. That was the similarity he needed: not specific pieces of music, but the fundamental basis for composition.

Feeling infinitely better about life, the universe, and everything, Yuri dropped his plate off to be washed and went back to work.

\----------------

While Flynn wasn’t exactly waiting for him to get home, Yuri could practically feel his attention focus in as soon as he walked through the front door. The sound of the violin that had hung faintly in the air outside cut off abruptly and, although he didn’t hear the creak of Flynn’s door, he noticed that it stood open a few inches. Light and stillness spilled out into the hall, telling him that Flynn was listening.

If he was waiting for a summons to class, it was going to be a few minutes in coming. Yuri’d had worse nights by far, but he wasn’t about to dive right into a one-on-one with his music snob of a housemate after spending the last several hours waiting on garden variety snobs. He needed something to eat and some time to sit and chill.

Repede padded into the kitchen as Yuri was pulling containers out of the fridge and freezer. Yuri gave the dog a quick pat on the head before washing his hands, then set about heating up some dinner. A few chicken tenders left over from the day before got a fresh splash of lime and went into the oven. There was chili to go with them. A couple weeks back, he’d made a large pot of it and frozen portions for later meals. One of those portions got dumped into a pot on a backburner. Yuri got out a plate and fork and fixed himself a glass of water. He grated some cheddar and set it and a pack of crackers on his ancient kitchen table. With some time to kill before everything would be done warming up, he sat down on the floor and ruffled Repede’s fur playfully. All the while, he was acutely aware of the expectant quiet coming from down the hall. The absence of sound as Flynn waited to hear that it was time to learn about metal was more distracting than when he practiced with his violin.

Eventually, the silence started getting to Yuri. He picked himself up and washed his hands again before giving the chili a stir. It wouldn’t be more than a few minutes before it was piping hot and ready to eat. There was probably enough to share, especially since he had the chicken in the oven, as well. Wondering why he couldn’t ever enjoy being by himself for long, Yuri pulled out a second plate and fork, two bowls and a couple spoons and set them on the table next to his plate.

“Hey,” he called. “You want some chili?”

The silence got more pronounced and then—Finally! A sign of life!—Yuri heard the creak of old hinges and the groan of the loose floorboard under the hall carpet. Flynn emerged slowly from the hallway, looking for all the world like a skittish animal not sure what to make of the human in its domain. Maybe sharing a meal wasn’t something they did…well… _ever_ , but he really didn’t have to look so suspicious about the offer.

“Hungry?” It was pretty late, but that had never stopped Yuri’s appetite before.

Flynn nodded. “It smells good. Something you brought home from work?”

“You could say that.” The Wonder Chef had taught him the basic steps a good while back, and Yuri had worked off that, trading out ingredients and mixing things up with the spices until he’d created a recipe that suited him and his taste buds just fine.

“It’ll be ready in a couple minutes.”

He nodded again—Didn’t he know how to do anything other than nod or fight?—and squatted next to the counter to pet Repede. The dog rolled over, baring his stomach and grinning upside down at Yuri, who smiled back lopsidedly. Although he could tell Flynn wasn’t a _bad_ person, he had yet to figure out exactly what it was Repede liked so much about him. Maybe it was the tummy rubs.

When his imagination conjured up a sensory memory to go with that last thought, Yuri hurriedly turned his back to the room on the pretense of giving the chili a good stir. He barely kept from resting a hand over his stomach where he could almost feel the ghost of a caress against his skin.

Fuck. How long had it been since he’d slept with someone? Definitely more than three months. It was no wonder even sarcastic thoughts about Flynn could set him off. The next free evening he got, he would meet up with someone who could help him take the edge off before things got even more awkward between the two of them.

Glancing back over his shoulder to see a nest of thick blond hair, broad shoulders, and what looked like some very nice thighs in those jeans, Yuri admitted to himself that if it wasn’t such a hassle looking for someone new to split the rent, he wouldn’t have minded giving things a go with his hotheaded housemate.

Thankfully, the chili was pretty much ready. When Yuri pulled out the chicken, he found that it was done, too. As Flynn washed up, he carried the pot and pan to the table and set them down on the battered wooden surface. He didn’t bother waiting, but grabbed his bowl and filled it with steaming spoonfuls of chili. Top it with some grated cheddar and an extra shot of Tabasco, and _perfection_. Piling some onto a cracker, he popped the bite into his mouth and chewed as he forked some chicken onto his plate.

A moment later, Flynn joined him and helped himself to dinner. He added _way_ more Tabasco than Yuri had, and if it weren’t for his delighted little smile upon taking that first bite, Yuri would almost have thought he was trying to prove something. Or start something. It wouldn’t have been the first time they’d fought over nothing.

“This is really good. My compliments to the chef.”

“Thanks.”

Flynn stopped chewing mid-bite and stared. Yuri ignored him and continued eating, not bothering to hold back his smirk. _Going to college, got a decent paying job, know what the fuck I’m talking about when it comes to music,_ and _I can cook. Chew on that_ , he thought.

“You said you brought this home from the restaurant.”

“Technically, you said that.” He indicated the chicken with his fork. “Try that. It’s good.”

“Did you cook it, as well?”

“Yup. How often do you see me eating out of a take out container or a TV dinner tray? I picked up the basics a while back, but the chef at work teaches me stuff, sometimes.”

“I…never paid much attention.” He’d been playing with his food, swirling his spoon through the chili, but he looked up suddenly to meet Yuri’s eyes. “We’ve been living together for three months, but this is the first time we’ve shared a meal, just the two of us.”

“So? We’ve got different schedules and, in case you somehow missed it, we hated each other for a while there.”

Frowning, he looked away again. “I didn’t hate you.”

Yuri laughed a little at that. “I don’t really care. You pay your half of the rent on time, so—”

“I don’t hate you!”

The table shook when he slammed a hand down on it, and Yuri regarded him quietly. He hadn’t forgotten that rejection was a hot button issue with Flynn, but he hadn’t thought it would provoke such a reaction coming from the other direction. After all, he was constantly rejecting Yuri’s music. Why not Yuri himself?

They continued eating in silence. Neither bothered to even attempt to start a conversation or so much as make eye contact. Yuri slipped Repede bites of chicken and stroked his fur under the table, glad for some familiarity during his meal. When he had finished, Flynn gathered up his dishes and the empty cookware and carried them over to the sink.

“Thank you for the meal.” 

The words were mumbled but sincere. It was enough for Yuri to shrug off the awkward turn their evening had taken. He brought his dishes to the sink, a little surprised when Flynn offered to wash, but not about to look a gift horse in the mouth.

“I’m gonna go set up. Come to my room when you’re done, and we’ll get started.”

He left him there in the kitchen and Repede followed as a matter of course. However much the dog liked Flynn, his first loyalty was still to Yuri. It was more reassuring than it should have been, but Yuri had never known Repede to take to someone as quickly or as well as he had to Flynn. He was Yuri’s best friend and, until three months ago, had been a one-man dog. Yuri didn’t like the thought of that changing.

Although he’d said he needed to get set up, there wasn’t really much to do. He pulled out both guitars in their cases and dropped to sit on the edge of his bed. Repede climbed on behind him and curled up against the wall. The amp was sitting just within reach, with a couple extra picks dropped on top. He probably wouldn’t need his CD player. If Flynn did well with this introduction, they could move on to finding him some bands to listen to another time.

Impatient to get started, he rocked on the very edge of the mattress until Flynn came in, looking around uncertainly until Yuri patted the rumpled covers in invitation. After a few moments to let him get settled, Yuri jumped right in.

“All right. First off, metal—” he drew a large circle in the air with his arms to emphasize what he was saying. “—is all of it: heavy, speed, death—everything. You can’t call Dragon Swarm heavy metal, because that isn’t what we are. That’s like saying the fiddly stuff you play is, I don’t know, easy listening, or something.”

When Flynn frowned and started to interrupt, Yuri grinned. “Pisses you off a bit, doesn’t it? You’ve been doing that since you moved in.”

“I didn’t mean—”

“Didn’t mean doesn’t matter. Learn now and we’ll forget it. Deal?”

He nodded. “All right.”

“Okay, then. Let’s see…. I’ll give you a quick and dirty run down of the major types of metal so you get an idea of where it’s coming from. If it helps, think of it as one of those progressive line chart things.”

“A continuum?”

“Yeah, sure. What are you grinning for?”

“Normally, you have a more-than-ample vocabulary.”

“What can I say? I’m a wordsmith. Anyway, metal started with heavy metal. It pulled a lot from hard rock and eventually a few groups picked up the pace a bit and came up with speed metal. That’s the basis for Dragon Swarm. We’ve got a little more melody than some of the other stuff down the line, but we incorporate some elements from other genres. After speed came thrash. They wanted everything to be harder, louder, and faster. Metal was starting to go kind of commercial around the edges, you know? So thrash was partly a reaction to that. Death metal got started next, and black metal, too. Actually, a bunch of offshoots started springing up and it gets a little confusing, so I won’t overload you right away. Think you get it so far?”

Flynn quickly ticked off on his fingers the subgenres Yuri had listed. “Just because I can name them in the order they surfaced, doesn’t mean I know what makes a difference between them.”

“We’re getting to that. When you’re a beginner, you start at the beginning.”

He caught the flash of bitterness across Flynn’s face. It had to have been a long time since anyone had called him a beginner. More than that, his pride must be smarting over the fact that _Yuri_ was teaching him about music. Really, it was a wonder he was submitting to it. Privately, he had expected Flynn to make up some excuse to back out of the lesson.

“The next thing I want you to understand is that the music both of us play isn’t as night and day as you think. A lot of the early pioneers of metal took cues from rock guitarists who were influenced by the classics. See where this is going? There’s a decent amount of classical influence throughout metal.”

“You were playing ‘Fur Elise’ that one time. I didn’t really think too much about it, but…. Were you classically trained?”

Yuri considered him for a moment, not particularly keen on getting too much into the story of how he got started playing music. He did need to demonstrate what he was saying in a language Flynn would understand, though. With a shrug, he flipped open the latches on Anemone’s case and pulled out his acoustic guitar.

“I learned from the guy who gave me this. He started me on the classics, but it wasn’t like that was the only thing I learned from him.”

“Is he the one who taught you to play the piano, too?”

“No. Back to what we were talking about—”

“Who was your guitar teacher? Was he a tutor, or did you attend a school?”

“That isn’t why we’re here.”

“I’m just curious. I don’t normally get to hear you play except when you’re with your band, so of course I’m going to be interested to hear that you can play different types of music.”

“Look, do you want to learn about metal, or about me?”

The answer to that should have been a very quick: “Metal.” Instead, Flynn jumped a little and sat back, his gaze suddenly everywhere except on Yuri. 

Well. That was interesting. Yuri smirked. He’d rarely seen Flynn flustered without a side of spluttering anger backing it up. Was he finally starting to chill out?

“What’s her name?” Flynn’s voice was soft, but the question still came as a surprise.

“Huh?”

“Your guitar. What’s her name?”

Looking down at the instrument that fit so comfortably in his hands, Yuri stroked his fingers fondly over the sounding board. “Anemone.”

Flynn’s eyes locked with him, confusion wrinkling his brow. “Like the sea creature?”

“Like the flower.” 

The confusion faded from Flynn’s expression, and Yuri watched him let any further questions go. He had been satisfied by a response that didn’t come anywhere near to telling the whole story, not that Yuri would have explained any further. Anemones carried the meaning ‘expectations.’ Although Yuri didn’t perform with the guitar he’d gotten from Niren, he hoped with every song he wrote and every appearance he put in with Dragon Swarm that he was doing his teacher proud. Niren had…. He’d given Yuri an awful lot.

“Where the hell was I before you dragged me off-topic?”

“Classical influences.”

“Right. Have a listen.”

Yuri started playing. Flynn shouldn’t recognize the particular arrangement of the piece, but he ought to be able to hear something familiar in the way it played out. It took a bit more concentration than he’d expected to draw out the notes he wanted, but they still came to him, slowed a bit to make it easier for Flynn to study the way they changed. It had been a while since he had played anything from a power metal group, but they tended more towards an orchestral sound, and he wanted something that bridged the gap between Flynn’s taste in music and something that trusted its message to words as well as chords. He didn’t actually sing, though he knew the lyrics. He wanted Flynn to be able to feel this out in his own way.

“That’s…. The structure isn’t quite right, but…. What are you playing?”

Flashing him a grin, Yuri picked up the tempo a bit. “Power metal.”

“That isn’t metal.”

“Wanna bet?” He ended with a flourish and tucked Anemone carefully away before reaching for his other case. “This,” Yuri said, pulling out his electric guitar, “is Old Scratch.”

A smile spread slowly across Flynn’s face, and Yuri knew he’d gotten the reference. Truthfully, the name was another nod to Niren. He was the one who had taught Yuri “The Devil Went Down to Georgia,” an enduring favorite, and Old Scratch was a folk name for the devil. Flynn didn’t need to know all that history, though.

“That sounds more your speed,” he said.

“Just listen to this and try to tell me that piece isn’t metal as hell.” 

Grinning, he plugged in Old Scratch, turned up the amp, and launched back into the sequence of music. He played even faster this time, slowing up only occasionally to draw out certain notes like enthusiastic cries. More comfortable now that he’d played through a section a couple times and switched to his customary guitar, Yuri let himself slip into the music and follow its story through, rocking a bit on the edge of his mattress as the guitar wailed and shouted through the amp. This was one of his favorite songs from when he’d first gotten into metal. It was strange how long it had been since he’d played it, but the music was still there with him and he welcomed it back like an old friend. Maybe it wasn’t all bad that he was having to provide some special tutoring.

Although he could play the whole thing, the effect wouldn’t be as helpful to Flynn’s understanding without the accompanying drums, bass, and keyboard. Yuri played through a couple changes in the melody, anyway, letting the arrangement of power chords and chromatic sequences hint at the rest of the music that ought to be joining in. There was a progression to this song—and so many others—that owed a lot more to classical influences than the verse-chorus-beat-repeat format that pop music chained itself to. If Flynn could only hear that, then maybe he would finally get it. Maybe he would finally see that metal had its own messages, and that, even if they weren’t pretty, at least they transcended the lyrics and were a product of every note and instrument, of the entire experience a song was meant to capture.

Yuri finished strong, the final sequence of notes recalling and uniting the theme that had linked all the other portions of the song. Coming out of his immersion in the music, he knew he would have to play the CD for Flynn later to give him the full experience. Metal went places other music didn’t. It wasn’t some “Goldilocks and the Three Bears” crap like pop music: do this, do that, do the other; do one thing, do the next, then another. It was a journey. It was _The Odyssey_ : epic and poetic, a narrative searching for what mattered through the deep and the dark and the indescribable.

The big question was: Would Flynn be able to understand that?

“So? Any interest stirring in that classical brain of yours?”

“You’re asking me to reconsider the merits of an entire genre based on one extended guitar solo.”

“I’ve got CDs. And there’s always the festival. You’re coming, right?”

“Do I have a choice?”

A month ago, that would have been the opening shot of an argument that could easily have ended with both of them throwing punches. It said a lot about how much more relaxed Flynn was that he could say it with a smile and without malice. Yuri grinned back at him, excited for the chance to share his music.

“None whatsoever. Grab my CD player. I’ve got a couple groups you need to hear.”

Flynn groaned a little, but he was still smiling faintly as he did as Yuri had said.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: For anyone not familiar with it, the Big Brothers/Big Sisters program “makes meaningful, monitored matches between adult volunteers […] and children […], ages 6 through 18, in [order to] develop positive relationships that have a direct and lasting effect on the lives of young people.” It’s like a sponsor/role model/mentor type thing.
> 
> Disclaimer: The characters in this story are from Tales of Vesperia and do not belong to me.

The first day of ZaFest dawned cool, and Yuri shivered a little in his tank top and shorts as he stood barefoot on the back steps after letting Repede out. Yawning, he stretched and seriously considered cocooning himself in his blankets for a few more hours. His shift last night had seemed to run much longer than usual, and he’d been too keyed up to sleep once he’d gotten home. He was still tired and hadn’t much wanted to get out of bed, but if Flynn was going to make the effort, he didn’t have much choice.

Heading back inside, he went straight for the kitchen. He needed something to wake him up before he even bothered getting dressed for the day. Sugar. Something sweet. And coffee. Rummaging through the fridge, he pulled out eggs, milk, and butter. There was cinnamon and sugar in the pantry and bread on the counter. Once the coffee maker was well on its way to providing several cups of revitalizing caffeine, he began whisking up the ingredients for French toast and got to work cooking breakfast.

Flynn emerged as the first couple pieces were coming out of the frying pan. He paused just inside the kitchen, then Yuri heard him move to the table and pull out a chair to sit down.

“So, you really do cook.”

“What the hell? I made chili and chicken just the other day, you ass.” He tossed a grin over his shoulder to be sure Flynn knew he wasn’t actually angry before going back to prepping the bread to get fried up. “Get the table set up, and maybe I’ll share breakfast, too.”

Immediately, he heard the scrape of the chair against the floor. The cabinet doors and squeaking drawers made hollow thunking sounds behind him as Flynn pulled out plates and silverware. Yuri smiled to himself as he flipped the slices in the pan and added more butter. Flynn must have been really impressed with his cooking to be moving so quickly on his orders. It wasn’t long before the two slices in the pan were done, and then there were only two left. No matter what he’d said about getting the table set, Yuri had planned from the start to have enough for both of them.

“How do you take your coffee?” Flynn asked.

“With about a half an inch of sugar in the bottom and some milk to top it off.”

There was a pause, then: “Are you serious?”

“I’ll do it.”

“No, I can make it. You’re making us breakfast, after all. It’s the least I can do.”

While Flynn took care of the coffee, Yuri finished up the French toast and piled the last of the half dozen slices onto a plate. He snagged a bottle of syrup out of the fridge as he carried their breakfast to the table. Flynn brought over the nearly overflowing mugs and set them down carefully before taking a seat. He was already dressed for the day, and as Yuri tucked into his meal, he couldn’t help watching Flynn out of the corner of his eye.

He’d chosen a black t-shirt, for once, likely as a way to blend in, though that wasn’t really necessary. It looked good on him. Yuri had known from their fights that Flynn didn’t let himself go just because he was an artsy type, but the shirt he wore now practically clung to him, making his athletic build all the more apparent.

Exasperated, Yuri dropped his fork onto his plate and took a long swig of coffee. The last thing he needed was to be looking at Flynn that way. Nothing but trouble could come of that. He licked his lips as he set his mug down.

“Doesn’t that get in the way when you eat?”

He looked up to meet Flynn’s eyes. “What?”

“Your tongue ring.” Flynn was pointing at him with his fork. “Doesn’t it get in the way?”

“Nah. Once I got used to it, it wasn’t really a problem.”

“Why a tongue ring? Why not an earring or something? Does it have something to do with your band?”

Yuri laughed. “Not in the way you’re thinking. I only got it done because of Judy. We went out drinking one night, and I woke up with this. Pretty sure it was her idea.”

“Why keep it, then? If you didn’t want it in the first place, why not just take it out and let the hole close up?”

“It doesn’t really bother me that much. Besides, it makes a good reminder not to get blackout drunk when Judy’s around.”

Flynn looked like there was something he wanted to say to that. It probably wasn’t anything Yuri would have liked to hear, because he opted to keep whatever it was to himself. Rather than saying anything else, he packed away another slice of French toast.

It had been a little while since Yuri had cooked for anyone but himself. He’d forgotten how nice it felt to see that someone enjoyed his food. As he started back in on his own breakfast, he tried not to smile too widely over something so small and stupid.

\-------------

|has judy called?|

As he slumped in the passenger seat of Flynn’s car, Yuri stared at the text from Karol and hoped he wouldn’t be too disappointed if Judy couldn’t make it back in time. Karol had been asking after her practically since she’d left, even though she had his number and wouldn’t have left him out of the loop.

|no stl erly|

|i hope she makes it. mom n dad wanna see me play!|

|hop so to u on way?|

|yeah were just hiting donwtown|

|sam met @ pk ntrns nw?|

There was a long pause before Karol’s response set off the cymbal crash text alert.

|yuri u gotta learn how to text.|  
|well see you there|

|k cu|

When Karol didn’t text him back, Yuri went back to the message he’d sent about meeting at the northwest entrance to the park and held his phone up for Flynn to see.

“You can read this, right?”

“Yuri, I’m trying to drive. Is it always this busy down here?”

“It’s a festival.” He glanced at the message once more before putting his phone away, grinning. “Karol says I need lessons in texting.”

“It wouldn’t surprise me.”

He sounded irritated, but that was probably due more to the immense concentration it was apparently taking to guide them safely through the slow moving chaos of downtown Zaphias traffic. That was another problem, right there. Flynn never seemed to lighten up. He took _everything_ seriously. Maybe he didn’t know how to have fun. Maybe he’d been born serious.

“Flynn, do you not like having fun?”

“Do I—what?” The question actually confused him enough to make him look away from the road, however briefly. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“Just wondering if you stay so tightly wound because you can’t help it or because you don’t want to loosen up.”

“Affliction versus affectation?” A tiny, crooked smile tugged at the corner of his mouth as he glanced at Yuri from the corner of his eye. “I like having fun. Remember that time a few years ago when all the police in the city sparkled for a week?”

“Yeah…?”

“Well…you remember they never found out who it was that caused it?”

Yuri couldn’t have grinned any harder if he’d tried. “ _You_ did that? No shit?”

“My dad and I used to prank each other for our birthdays. That year, I put confetti and glitter in the AC units of all the patrol cars. I’m the reason they installed security cameras in the police parking lot.”

“Me and the guys gave the beat cops so much shit for that! Damn.” 

He laughed, remembering. He hadn’t had a whole lot of respect for that sort of lower level, power tripping authority to begin with, but when a cop was bearing down on you looking like he’d wanted to be the prettiest princess at the ball, it was impossible to take him seriously.

“Your old man didn’t turn you in for it, did he?”

“No. The pranks were…well, I can’t really say they were our secret, but they were _ours_. He got me back by giving me bear hugs every day he came home with glitter on him. I sparkled for days.”

Imagining that, Yuri laughed again, softly. So, Flynn had a bit of a criminal background. In Yuri’s experience, that sort of prank ended up attached to phrases like ‘criminal mischief.’ Not to mention that cops didn’t tend to leave their vehicles unlocked. Flynn would have had to break into the cars to pull that off. He was ballsier than Yuri had expected, particularly since he probably would have been easily identified if he’d been spotted.

“So, your dad’s a cop?” It explained some stuff about him, for sure.

“He was. He died a few years back. Killed on the job.”

He’d never heard Flynn’s voice go quiet like that. The mood in the car hadn’t exactly soured, but suddenly Yuri felt a bit callous for having laughed. He slumped a little further in his seat and looked out the window.

“Sorry.”

“It’s all right. It took me a while to get over it, but…he died protecting people. I’ll always be proud of him for that.”

Not sure what to say to that, Yuri just nodded. Recognizing where they were, he rapped a knuckle against the glass.

“There’s a parking garage on this side a couple blocks up.”

“I see it.”

It had gotten awkward between them quick, but Flynn’s next question shocked Yuri right out of that.

“You’re the boy Niren sponsored in the Big Brothers program, aren’t you?”

As they traded bright sunshine for the shadowed concrete of the parking garage, Yuri looked at him askance.

“Where’d you hear that?”

“Niren was friends with my dad. He used to bring his guitar with him when he visited, sometimes. At first, when you told me the guitar’s name was Anemone, I thought it was just a coincidence. Two guitars named after that flower, though, would be a pretty big coincidence.”

“Guess so.” He looked out the window once more, watching rows of cars and dingy slabs of concrete roll past.

Flynn knew Niren. Weird. He wondered how Niren and Flynn’s dad had met. Niren hadn’t been a cop, he’d been a retired soldier. Either Flynn’s dad must have served, or the two of them had crossed paths before Niren had enlisted. He’d never mentioned any Scifos, though if Flynn knew about his volunteering with the Big Brother program, he must have heard some stories about Yuri. He smirked. It couldn’t have been anything good.

“I never really hung around while he was visiting with my dad, so I don’t know if he talked much about you. He did say something to me, once.”

If Flynn was expecting him to ask, he was in for a long wait. Luckily, that didn’t seem to be the case.

“He told me he knew a kid my age, and that it amazed him, sometimes, how we could be so different and so similar at the same time.”

Yuri snorted.

“Yeah. It didn’t make a lot of sense to me, either. Not until recently.”

He couldn’t help smiling at that. “I told you so.”

Flynn pulled into a parking space and they climbed out of the car and began the walk back down to street level.

“I think I can be forgiven my disbelief.”

“You can think whatever you want.”

“You weren’t exactly easy to get along with.”

“Says the guy who tried to poison me.”

“I wasn’t trying to poison you. It was a three layer bean dip.”

“It was a biohazard. You should be thankful I didn’t call in a hazmat team.”

“That’s a little harsh. Being able to make chili and French toast doesn’t make you a food critic.”

“Having taste buds does, but I guess you wouldn’t know about that.”

They stepped out into the sun, and Yuri paused a moment to stretch. The warmth sat heavy on his t-shirt as it gradually seeped through to banish the morning’s lingering chill. It was a little breezy, and the day was promising to get warmer still. All in all, it looked like the city had picked the right weekend for ZaFest.

Although it was still business as usual along Main Street, several smaller roads leading to the art district and the park had been cordoned off to allow for foot traffic and vendors’ booths. It was barely noon, but already, restaurants with outdoor seating were filling up as people came out to have a bite and watch the festivities. Small businesses—galleries, toy stores, specialty clothing shops, bakeries, bookstores, chocolate shops, jewelry boutiques—all of them had their doors propped wide open and wares out on display to welcome in the masses that had come out for the festival. Local artists had set up shop in booths lining the sidewalks, selling their paintings, photography, ceramics, stained glass, and more. The artisan booths were interspersed with food trucks and little tents that had staked out curb space to represent local restaurants from throughout Zaphias.

Even so soon after breakfast, the smell of cinnamon proved too enticing, and Yuri stopped to get himself a churro. As he did, Flynn went to take a look at a booth run by an artist selling miniature trees made of stone chips and twisted wire. One of them, crafted with pink stones, looked like it was covered in blooming flowers, and he bought it just as Yuri was catching up. Tucking it into his small messenger bag, he explained that it was a gift for Estelle. 

They stopped by a woodcarving table owned by a friend of Yuri’s who went by the nickname Otter. A fellow musician, Otter carved ocarinas, and was all too happy to play a few bars in demonstration. They couldn’t stay long, since Karol was waiting to meet up with them, so, with the promise to stop by and chat later, Yuri led Flynn on toward the park.

It wasn’t a very long walk; only a few blocks until the storefronts and studio apartments began giving way to benches surrounded by spindly trees and carefully tended bushes and flower beds, little hints of nature leading like breadcrumbs to its foothold in the heart of Zaphias. The park was held separate from the city by a tall brick and iron fence mostly covered in ivy and morning glories. It had four entrances and was enormous: big enough for the city to have set up three separate stage areas for different groups to be performing throughout the festival. As they approached the northwest gate, Yuri spotted Karol and his parents and waved a greeting.

Immediately, Karol tore down the sidewalk, grinning hugely. His excitement faded as he got closer, however, and by the time he was close enough to talk to them, he looked downright accusatory. He didn’t stop moving, just reversed direction and began walking backwards, keeping pace with Yuri and Flynn.

“What’s _he_ doing here?” he demanded, turning his frown on them both.

Flynn looked as if he wanted to ask the same question, though for much different reasons. This was the first time he had seen Karol since his little blow up outside Keiv Rock. He’d taken to hiding in his room whenever Dragon Swarm got together to practice, which wasn’t precisely anything new, but Yuri knew the difference between avoidance born of intense dislike and that stemming from awkwardness. Flynn probably wasn’t sure what to say to Karol, and the thought that he’d let himself get backed into the proverbial corner by the prospect of apologizing to a middle schooler amused the hell out of Yuri.

“It’s cool, boss. I’m just taking him on a little field trip.” He smirked at Flynn. “To learn.”

They made it back to where Karol’s parents were waiting in the next few steps, and Joy hurried up to him to claim her hug. Rupert was standing off to the side and waved distractedly while fiddling with his new camera. He always had a new camera or phone or something. Yuri had liked the Capels since meeting them, but Joy was a hugger, and that had taken some getting used to. She pulled Karol close and kept an arm around Yuri’s back, one hand on his hair above his ear, as she gave Flynn the same frown Karol had.

“You were extremely rude to my boys last time, Mr Scifo.”

“Yeah, Flynn.” Yuri smirked at him. “I think you’ve got something to say to Karol, don’t you?”

Oh, he’d been waiting for this ever since Flynn had agreed to come. The levels of pure awkward were skyrocketing as Flynn froze up and fumbled for words, confronted unexpectedly by an innocent kid he’d insulted and that kid’s doting parents. All four of them stared him down as Flynn tried to regain some control of the situation. This was gonna be good.

“I— About last time…. I…said some things in the heat of the moment—” He broke off to glare pointedly at Yuri who showed some teeth, glee in his grin. “—that I shouldn’t have said. I’ve been meaning to apologize for that. I was angry and out of line. I’m sorry.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Yuri caught Karol looking up at him. He shrugged and stepped out of Joy’s embrace. It was up to Karol whether he would accept the apology or not. Yuri might have expected Flynn to clear the air, but he wasn’t going to play peacemaker if it turned out that his drummer and his housemate simply couldn’t get along.

Watching Flynn doubtfully, Karol asked: “What sort of music does Dragon Swarm play?”

“Speed metal,” Flynn answered promptly. “Your music includes classical influences and employs techniques common to power metal and technical death metal.”

Turning to Yuri, Karol did not look impressed. “He sounds like a textbook.”

“Be glad you don’t live with him.”

Easy as that, Karol grinned and the tension was broken. He stepped forward, offering Flynn a hand to shake.

“Apology accepted. Now, come on! Depth Charge is up soon, and I don’t wanna miss ‘em!”

“You go on ahead,” Yuri said. “We’ll catch up.”

“I’ll save you guys some seats!” He shot off into the park, leaving Joy to smile briefly at them before guiding her husband after their son. Yuri let them get out of sight before he began following at a much slower pace, Flynn at his side.

“Why did you hang back?”

He kept his voice low as he answered, more to force Flynn to lean in a little and _really_ listen than anything else. “Out of the three of us, Karol is probably the closest to you in terms of skill. Judy and I are good, but we have to work for it a lot harder than he does. He’s a natural. Don’t get me wrong, though; Karol throws his heart into practicing. He eats, breathes, and sleeps music.” 

When Yuri had first met Karol, confidence had obviously been something the kid needed to work on. Now, he practically radiated pride at being Dragon Swarm’s drummer, and Yuri was proud to have him. He caught Flynn’s eyes and knew both of them were thinking about the things that had been said that night. Maybe Yuri had understood a little of where Flynn had been coming from, but Karol hadn’t had a clue. And sure, he was going to have to put up with shit like that no matter what because some people were just assholes. That didn’t mean Yuri had to stand by and let it happen right in front of him, though.

“Just thought you should know.” Let him think on all that for a while. Maybe then he would know why Yuri hadn’t let him slither out of apologizing again.

They walked through the park in silence as the crowds thinned out around them. Most of the people coming for ZaFest’s musical offerings would be heading for the newly constructed amphitheater, a half dome that peeked up above the trees some yards distant, or the stage that had been erected near the picnic tables. Those were the sites for the more mainstream local bands, everything from pop to rock to country to rap. The underground scene had been designated to the old amphitheater near the corner of the park that bordered on the seedier side of town. Despite what most considered a less-than-desirable location, Yuri was actually glad they’d gotten that spot. There was something he liked about the place, something chill about the green of the grass against the weathered, ash gray, lichen-covered stones that ringed the tiers of the slope cradling the wide performance space at the bottom of the bowl of earth. He hoped someone had put up some sort of temporary stage, at least, but either way it would be fine. The whole feel of the place was much more laid back than the stuffy, formal amphitheater or the often-crowded lakeside and picnic areas. It was actually one of his favorite places to hang when he just wanted to relax. Pity he couldn’t have brought Repede, but sensitive hearing and loud music didn’t mix all that well. They’d have to come out for a walk some time soon.

As more and more people branched out to go check out who was playing at the first two stages, band shirts began outnumbering the bright floral prints of summer. By the time the uppermost level of the amphitheater came into view, nearly three quarters of the people still heading in the same direction were wearing black. Wondering if Flynn had noticed and if he was proud of himself for creating the illusion that he fit in, Yuri smirked. His appearance had never been the problem. It was his attitude that needed fixing.

“Why are there so many police officers around?”

“Hmm?”

Yuri had been aware of the cops peripherally, something to take note of and avoid. He was used to seeing them poking around his hangouts, and had mostly been ignoring them. When Flynn pointed them out, however, he realized that there were far more blue uniforms wandering the edges of the small, gathering crowd than there should have been. They hadn’t seen so many cops the whole way through downtown traffic.

“Jeez. Someone call out the whole precinct?” He watched a couple of them, recognizing the way they milled about and kept their eyes on the growing crowd. He didn’t like what he was seeing.

“I don’t think they were called out. If something had happened, we’d see a lot more movement.”

“I know they weren’t called out. They’re here to make sure we don’t start shit.”

Scowling, he stopped in his tracks. It figured. The first year that metal was actually represented at ZaFest, and the city’s finest had been ordered to stand guard against the inevitable tide of mayhem that would surely result. He rolled his eyes. Bunch of prejudiced old bastards.

“This is ridiculous, though. We didn’t see nearly as many of them back on the streets.”

“Don’t tell me you’re surprised. It isn’t like they’re all that much different from you.”

Flynn had him by the shoulder and spun him around so quick that Yuri stumbled and nearly fell. Ready for a fight, he met Flynn glare for glare even as a couple of the nearest cops focused in on them, looking for any excuse to bust some metalheads. Let them try and come after him. The day Yuri Lowell couldn’t outrun a couple doughnut-sucking meter jockeys—

“You told me we could start over. I’m out here because I’m trying, but if you aren’t going to let go of your old opinion of me, then I don’t see any point in my staying here.”

Well, fuck. Yuri let his anger slip away, hands relaxing out of the fists he’d automatically raised between himself and Flynn. The guy had a point. If he was really trying to be less of an asshole, it wasn’t fair to keep thinking of him the way Yuri had been. He turned aside as one of the cops reached them and Flynn put on a smile and reassured the nice officer that no, there wasn’t a problem here.

“I’m sorry, sir. My roommate and I were just having a little disagreement.”

“Keep the disagreements to a minimum. There’s a zero-tolerance policy in place this weekend. If I have to warn you again, you’ll be asked to leave the festival.”

“Yes, sir. We’re sorry. _Right_ , Yuri?”

“Yeah, sure.” He was sorry the city couldn’t hire cops that did their jobs rather than hanging around to make sure the metal scene didn’t get too comfortable.

Finally, the cop decided he’d been enough of a dickhead, and went back to killing time with his buddy.

“Asshole,” Yuri muttered.

“They’re only doing their job.”

“That’s bullshit and you know it. They could be out arresting drunk drivers or responding to emergencies. Instead, we’ve got half of Zaphias’ goon squad standing around twiddling their thumbs and looking for an excuse to shut us down. The Don’s gonna have a field day with this.”

“The Don?”

“Yeah. He’s the guy who got us a stage this year. He’s probably been into metal since before we were born.”

As he spoke, music had begun floating up from the bottom of the amphitheater, the first strains of Bach’s _Suite No. 1_ , deceptively soft, particularly if you knew what was coming.

“Is that a cello?” 

Flynn was craning his neck, trying in vain to get a glimpse of the source of the sound. A grin broke across Yuri’s face at the surprise in his voice, and he wondered what Flynn would make of Gauche and her electric cello painted with koi fish in the style of classic tattoos.

“ _That_ is Depth Charge. C’mon. Karol’s gonna think we got arrested, or something.” Turning toward the amphitheater, he paused a moment to root through a pocket. “Oh. Here, take these. You might need them.”

After passing Flynn a pair of earplugs, Yuri set off down into the grassy tiers without looking back. Later, he would find out what was going on with the cops. First, he was going to enjoy the festival.

The soft pattern of notes faded out as they walked, but it was only a deceptive pause, a moment of stillness before the storm began in earnest. It came with a buzzing hiss, a product of Yeager’s keyboard and speakers set up to intentionally provide feedback. There was a crash from the cymbals as Droite joined in, and then Gauche took up the melody once more, making something new from it.

One row up from the very bottom, away from most of the sparse crowd and the few people milling around in the mosh pit area in front of the stage, Karol was sitting with his parents and looking around restlessly. As soon as he spotted Yuri, he shot up out of his seat and waved, though it wasn’t really necessary. Karol tended towards more colorful clothes and, together with his parents, they resembled a family of parrots perched among crows. Yuri joined them just as the song was really coming together. Flynn took his seat hurriedly, attention fixed on the low stage. It must have been a real surprise for him to hear an instrument he had some familiarity with being included in a metal band. That was a stroke of pure luck. Yuri couldn’t have asked for a better group to ease him in.

Onstage, Depth Charge was still playing something Flynn ought to recognize, but they had made it over in their image. If they had begun like a light summer shower, they had become a full on hailstorm, with Yeager’s fingers playing notes like rain on a tin roof, and Droite releasing bursts of drumbeats while she measured the tempo for her twin. 

Gauche’s bow danced over the strings of her cello, and the sound was the gale driving the rain, the shape of the storm and the beauty overlaying its power. The sonorous tone was broken only occasionally by a sharp pull high across the strings, eliciting a cry like a voice barely heard above the tempest.

Yuri found himself watching Flynn as much as Depth Charge. That initial surprise had faded, giving way to a sharp focus. He saw Flynn’s fingers moving inches over his thigh, conducting and predicting the melody that had been thrown to the winds. As cello, drums, and keyboard wove themselves together into a seamless whole, Flynn closed his eyes, tilting his head and concentrating on the music. Despite the volume, he hadn’t put the earplugs in and was listening— _really_ listening—and Yuri sat back with a grin. He waited for the approving cheer at the end of the song to lean in and speak.

“Cello metal.”

“Sorry?”

“That’s their genre. They aren’t the only metal band that incorporates classical instruments and melodies.”

“They’re good.”

“One of the best in Zaphias.” He gestured to the earplugs Flynn still held. “It’s okay to put those in. I don’t bother anymore, but a lot of people worried about damaging their hearing use them.” 

Smiling apologetically, Flynn put them in as Depth Charge launched into their second song, an original piece, this time. It caught Flynn’s attention just as well, although it took a little longer for him to get into it. While their opening number had been based around something familiar, the only part of the rest of their set that Yuri knew Flynn could relate to was the cello, itself. Still, he seemed to be enjoying it well enough. That was a pretty good sign. Maybe Yuri should have dragged him out to listen to Depth Charge sooner. While there were certainly bands around that sounded more fragmented with each instrument seeming to exist to play its own separate role, the songs Yeager and his girls put together were one of the more elegant shows of force in Zaphias’s metal scene. While Gauche or Droite’s playing was occasionally highlighted, more often than not, all of them blended their notes together, offering a rich sound, textured by Yeager’s keyboard, accentuated by Droite’s drums, and gifted with depth from Gauche’s cello.

When their set concluded, Yuri was a little disappointed to have reached the end in what felt like a seriously short amount of time. He didn’t usually like instrumentals, but Depth Charge knew how to make up for the lack of vocals. Glancing at Flynn, he wondered if he felt the same way, or if he was simply trying to be polite while wondering how long they would be staying. Flynn caught him looking and smiled. Seemed like things were going well, then.

“Wonder who’s on next.”

Yuri’s curiosity was answered as a familiar shock of pink hair appeared at the side of the stage. He bit back a swear as Zagi hopped up onto the platform. His band, Parrotoxin, wasn’t bad, but Zagi himself was a royal pain in the ass. Yuri really didn’t want to stick around where he was sure to be noticed. He stood up and clapped Karol on the shoulder.

“I’ll catch you later, okay Boss?”

“All right. See ya, Yuri!”

He started back up the side of the amphitheater, not surprised when Flynn followed.

“What’s going on? Don’t tell me we’re done already.”

“Nah. I just didn’t wanna stick around so close for this next group. We’ll listen from up top.”

He noticed Flynn falling behind and caught him looking back to where Parrotoxin was setting up. Trust him to actually get curious when Yuri mostly just wanted to get far away. Well, it wasn’t like they had to stick together. This wasn’t a kindergarten field trip. Yuri continued on up, content to leave him behind. If he liked what he heard while he wasn’t being babysat, that was all the more reason to count the day as a success.

Back on level ground, he looked around and spotted Don “The Don” Whitehorse, one of the most recognizable people in Zaphias’s metal scene. The Don was across the way, talking animatedly—and not very happily—to a woman who wore ‘unimpressed’ like a tailored business suit. Yuri recognized her only because she dined occasionally at the Atria. Why The Don would be talking to a well-off businesswoman like Mary Kaufman was enough of a mystery to pique Yuri’s interest. He started around the amphitheater to go say hello…and to see what was going on.

A discordant shout from an electric guitar signaled that Parrotoxin was ready to perform. He heard Zagi spouting off about something, but tuned him out with practiced ease as Flynn caught up.

“What’s going on?”

“Gonna go see The Don.”

“No, I mean, why didn’t you stay to watch?” He glanced back down with a wince as Zagi pulled a scream from his guitar, and Yuri could see him trying to hide hope when he asked: “Are they not very good?”

“Technically speaking, they’re up there with the best of us.”

“And artistically?”

“Matter of opinion.”

“What’s your opinion?”

“That you should form your own.”

“ _Yuri_ ….”

He _really_ did not want to get into his reasons for not sticking around. It would have been ancient history a couple months ago if Zagi wasn’t so hardcore about holding grudges. It didn’t seem like Flynn was going to let up, though, so Yuri stopped and turned to face him.

“Look, my beef is with Zagi, not his band. You wanna know if they’re worth listening to, go watch their set and decide for yourself.”

There was a pause just long enough for Yuri to think that maybe that would be the end of it, then: “What happened between you and Zagi?”

_For fuck’s sake._

“We’re venturing into personal territory again,” he warned

“Is that a problem?” Flynn asked. Yuri glanced at him sharply, wondering where this sudden interest was coming from, but Flynn was looking at the sky and missed the look. “We live together. We ought to know more about each other.”

“Hey, I’m good as long as I don’t have to worry about getting stabbed in my sleep.”

Immediately, he regretted his poor choice of words. It had come a little too close to the truth. Zagi’d had an obsession with knives that bordered on disturbing.

Luckily, Flynn didn’t seem to have noticed. It had probably only registered as another bit of flippancy. Roommate wanted. Serial killers and puppy kickers need not apply.

Either way, the remark convinced him to drop the subject. They continued on in golden silence for a few feet until Yuri noticed that Harry was with his grandfather and Kaufman. Flynn spotted him at the same time and perked up a little.

“Oh. I recognize that band.”

He said it like he’d done something good as he pointed to the logo on Harry’s t-shirt, and Yuri could have laughed. “Yeah, everybody’s heard of them. They’re a nu metal group. Harry’s a fan.”

“You didn’t mention that genre last night.”

“Eh.” He shrugged. “A couple of them are okay. For the most part, it’s sort of watered-down, radio friendly fare. Think of nu metal like the fruity mixed drink of metal.”

Flynn covered a smile at that with his hand as they drew close enough to hear what was being said.

“—telling ya, it’s a load of horseshit!”

That very nearly made Yuri reconsider intruding. The Don wasn’t the type to pussyfoot around when he was angry, but he also wasn’t known for disrespecting people unless they didn’t deserve his respect. Shouting swears in the middle of an argument with a lady was not something he’d have done if he wasn’t pissed. Still, Yuri had known since Flynn had pointed them out that The Don wasn’t going to be happy about the number of cops present. That had to be what had him up in arms, and Yuri was interested to see if this woman had any insight as to what was going on, whether the boys in blue had been sent or if they’d simply swarmed.

“I really don’t know what you expect me to do about it.” She shrugged and settled a hand on one hip. “I’m only here in my capacity as liaison from the Chamber of Commerce. I’ve got no say over how the commissioner deploys his troops.”

“So the goon squad really _is_ here on orders.”

“Yuri.” The Don shot him a hard look. “Don’t go startin’ anything.”

“Who me?”

“And as for you—” He rounded once more on Kaufman. “I know as well as you that your outfit has fingers in pies all over the city. Ya helped us out this far, now how about usin’ some of that influence of yours ta get rid of some of our civic chaperones.”

Kaufman smiled. “Quid pro quo keeps the world going around. What’s in it for me?”

“Think of it as part of our original agreement.”

“Oh, no. I helped you guys get representation at ZaFest, but I’m not seeing much of a return on my investment.”

“ _Investment_?”

“My _time_ , Don. Believe it or not, inviting the underground scene out into the open was not a popular initiative. And, if you hadn’t noticed, there isn’t much of a turnout so far. I’m not sure that providing this venue will have benefited anyone outside your little subculture.”

“Hey!” Yuri felt Flynn grab his shoulder to hold him back, but he shrugged him off and stepped forward. “It’s too early for you to go deciding that.”

“Why? Because most of the prospective attendees for this show are still in bed?”

He smirked at her. “Because everyone knows they always save the best for last. This place’ll be packed later on.”

“Oho. That’s some confidence. Are you in one of the bands, or just an optimist?” She made it obvious that she wasn’t looking for an answer when she switched her attention back to The Don. “I held up my end. The police are your problem, not mine. If there’s any trouble with the stage or equipment, you have my number. Always good to see you, Don.” 

With a smile and a wave, she washed her hands of the matter and walked off. The Don watched her go, mouth twisted in an expression of deep dissatisfaction. He made no move to stop her, though, and Yuri could see he was ready to deal with the unnecessary amount of cops on his own. Remembering Hachette’s comment from a few nights ago, Yuri almost could have laughed. ‘Chill old bird.’ What the hell? Don Whitehorse was not someone to fuck with.

“What’re ya grinning for, kid?”

If anyone else had called him ‘kid,’ Yuri would have been up in arms immediately. Somehow, though, he didn’t much mind when it was coming from The Don.

“Just thinking about how much Zaphias’s finest out there are gonna regret trying to rain on our parade.”

From behind The Don, Yuri could hear Harry snort. He leaned around to stare at the perpetually sullen teenager. He’d never gotten on too well with Harry. The kid took too much for granted—chiefly, his grandfather. Yuri didn’t have a family of his own, but he figured that made him uniquely qualified to see the value in having a good one.

The Don jabbed a finger in Yuri’s face, effectively redirecting his attention.

“You leave the police to me, got it? From what I’ve heard, you got other things to worry about. That bassist of yours gonna be back in time for your set Sunday?”

“I guess we’ll find out tomorrow.”

“Pretty laid back after that bragging you did to Kaufman.”

“I don’t remember bragging. Flynn, you hear me bragging about Dragon Swarm?” He tossed a quick smirk over his shoulder and caught Flynn rolling his eyes. “Besides, we’re hardly the only awesome band playing tomorrow. Depth Charge is even doing an encore performance.”

“I know who’s on when. Who the hell d’ ya think wrote the schedule?”

They talked for a little longer about some of the other bands that would be playing and about how big a pain in the ass it had been to get a stage when most of the people in charge of the festival seemed to think that metal fans were a bunch of anarchists liable to burn the park down around their ears. 

“As if we aren’t all part of the same damn city. A few years back, I was a member of the Chamber of Commerce. I leave to give myself some free time when I’m not running the store, and they forget all about me. How do ya like that?”

“Don’t know what to tell you on that score, Don.” Plenty of people Yuri had dealt with had been all too happy to see the back of him, but they’d never been people he respected in the first place. It wasn’t quite the same as being dismissed by one’s peers.

“Wasn’t lookin’ for sympathy, anyhow. You kids get back to the festival. I’m gonna go make some calls and see if I can’t get some of these guys sent on their way.”

“Give ‘em hell!” Yuri pumped his fist into the air, flashing The Don the horns as he walked off, Harry in tow. He turned back the way he’d come, his own blond shadow trailing along.

“So, that was Don Whitehorse?”

“Yup.”

“And he’s…?”

“He’s…The Don. He started a power metal band practically before anyone in this city had any idea what metal was about. He owns the best music store in town—CDs, instruments, gear, whatever you need—and he started up a quarterly to promote local bands and do features on the music and reviews for all sorts of stuff. One of his old band mates is the owner of Keiv Rock. Any time there’s a metal event in the city, if he didn’t help organize it, he’ll at least be there.”

“He’s the head of your community?”

Yuri wrinkled his nose. That wasn’t right at all. _Everybody_ knew The Don, and even if they didn’t like him personally or if they didn’t like his music, at least they knew he’d been on the scene since before some of the ZaFest attendees had been born. He knew what was up, and his opinions held weight because of that, but he wasn’t a leader, or anything like that. He was just well known.

Flynn realized his mistake and cut off Yuri’s correction. “All right, I get it. Wrong choice of words. A pillar of the community?”

“Heh. Close enough.”

As they passed the front of the stage, Yuri glanced down to see Zagi still wailing away on his guitar. He could have sworn they made eye contact for a moment, and repressed the urge to speed up. What were the odds that, in the middle of a song, he’d look up and just happen to catch Yuri looking back? It was almost like he had radar. He certainly had a natural talent for being creepy. Yuri had learned pretty early on, though, that one of the tricks to dealing with Zagi was to never let him see that he’d rattled you. Ever.

He recognized the song Parrotoxin was playing. He ought to—he’d written the damn thing, after all—but Zagi had cut it to pieces and made it his own. Yuri could hear the old song in snippets, bits and pieces broken up and scattered through the rearrangement, little reminders of a string of bad decisions. 

_Ancient history_ , he reminded himself. For better or worse, Flynn spoke up and drove it out of his mind.

“What’s your major?”

“Huh?”

“Your major. At college.” He was trying too hard not to look in Yuri’s direction again and—was that a blush across his cheeks? What the hell was he blushing for? “I never asked,” he muttered.

Oh. Embarrassment. Right. That was easy enough to deal with.

“Why the sudden interest? I’d’ve thought seeing what metal is really about would’ve made you less likely to want a background check on me.”

“I’m just…trying to get to know you. We started off on the wrong foot.”

“No shit.” 

They walked along in silence until Yuri turned suddenly away from the rim of the amphitheater and headed off toward a little cluster of trees. He leaned up against one, watching people wander past, and watching Flynn. He’d always been an interesting housemate, but now he was catching Yuri’s interest in a different way. Seemed like Flynn wanted to be friends. He couldn’t really see the two of them being friends, but then, sometimes people surprised him. Niren had.

“Undecided.”

“Sorry?”

“My major. I’m undecided. I’m working through some core classes until I figure out what I want to do.”

“What about Dragon Swarm?”

Yuri dismissed the thought with a wave. “I love being in a band, sure, but I don’t want to make it my job. It’s supposed to be fun, right?” He looked up, squinting against the sun spears that angled through the leafy branches overhead. “A lot of work, but fun.”

“What, um…what else did you have in mind?”

“Cooking, maybe. It might be cool to have my own kitchen. I think I could handle that pretty well.” He grinned at Flynn. “What about you? Planning on making a living playing violin? Traveling the world with a famous orchestra?”

“I don’t really—”

He lost interest in Flynn’s answer as he spotted Zagi storming toward him across the grass. Heaving a sigh, he rolled his eyes. “Here we go.”

“Sorry?” Flynn didn’t even notice Zagi’s approach until he was shoved aside.

“Yuri Lowell.”

Trying to look as bored as possible, Yuri didn’t move from where he leaned against the tree. He was watching closely, however, ready for Zagi to start something. Better than fifty-fifty odds when he had that look in his eyes. They guy might wear more straps than a straight jacket and jingle like a reindeer at Christmas under all his chains, but he was quick, and had a hair trigger temper way worse than Yuri’s.

“Set over already? Normally, it takes you a little longer to lose the crowd. You must be getting rusty.”

“You’d know all about that, you and those losers you call a band. You posers are stuck in a rut. Metal moved on. Pick up the pace!”

“Is that all you came to say? Every member of Dragon Swarm is more metal than you with those ego accessories you’ve got playing backup.”

A strangled growl escaped Zagi’s throat, and Yuri adjusted his footing.

“I won’t let you dismiss me!” His fists were balled at his sides, but he was holding himself back. Maybe even Zagi wasn’t crazy enough to go starting shit with so many cops around.

“You’ve never done a damn thing to show me you’re worth paying any attention to. Come on, Flynn. It’s warm enough without this windbag blowing hot air.”

“Heh. So this is the asswipe you replaced me with? Heard he dissed your pathetic band.”

When Flynn opened his mouth to respond, Yuri cut him off. “Yep. Bonehead doesn’t know shit about metal. Really sucks to be stuck living with him. Poor me.” He raised his hand in a careless wave and moved to leave. “I’d say it was good talking to you, but that’d be a damn lie.”

“You can’t ignore me!”

“Whatever. Try not to shank anybody before your next gig.” He grabbed Flynn’s sleeve, muttering: “Let’s go.”

“You used to be better than this, Yuri Lowell! Why are you wasting your time on that pansy ass fiddle player? I’ll make you acknowledge my skills! I’ll make you recognize me!”

His mistake was taking his eyes off of Zagi. He should have known better, even with the cops around. Zagi always had been more than a little loopy. When he got angry enough, his world shrank down to whoever had pissed him off. It hadn’t been three months since Yuri had kicked him out. He shouldn’t have forgotten.

“I _won’t_ let you turn your _back on me_!”

Zagi punctuated his enraged shout with a fist to the back of Yuri’s head, and that was it. Cops or no cops, Yuri wasn’t about to let him get away with that. He spun on his heel and barely managed to clip him with a left hook. Someone grabbed his arm, and he shoved whoever it was away, all his focus on getting in enough decent hits to knock the fight out of Zagi. It took him three tries and an elbow in his back to knock Zagi to the ground. Crazy, he might be, but he was _fast_ too, and if he stayed on his feet, the fight would drag out. Yuri still took several vicious punches to his ribs as they grappled, but he was giving better than he got right up until he heard the familiar clicking of Zagi’s butterfly knife.

“You can’t ignore me, Yuri! _You can’t dismiss me_!”

“Fucking psycho!”

He felt the knife connect with the side of his hand as he scrambled to get out of reach. A black dress shoe flashed across his field of vision, catching Zagi’s wrist and knocking the knife away, and suddenly, Flynn was yanking on his arm, hauling him up and away as cops swarmed through the gathered crowd, shouting and bearing down on him.

Zagi was on his feet in no time. Ducking out of reach as the cops grabbed for him, he made a dash for the crowd. Though he was no longer armed, the onlookers let the slippery bastard get through, and he disappeared into the park. Yuri curled his lip, not surprised that he’d managed to get away. He didn’t have long to think about it, as he was grabbed roughly, his arm forced up behind his back by one of the glorified crossing guards the city had sent to intimidate any mischief out of the assembled metalheads.

He spit into the grass, not surprised to taste blood. His cheek and ribs hurt and his hand was starting to throb. So much for a peaceful day at the park.

“Wait! Wait a minute!” Flynn wasn’t quite grabbing the cop to pull him off of Yuri, but it was a near thing. His hands hovered mere inches away. “He was only defending himself. The other man—Zagi—he’s the one who started the fight. He even pulled a knife. Yuri’s unarmed.”

“I don’t give a damn who started it—” Surprisingly, the cop was cut off by one of his own.

“Pipe down, Lewis.”

Yuri looked up at the officer who’d interrupted, knowing his expression was neither thankful, nor particularly friendly. The man glanced at him, lip curling a little beneath his bushy salt-and-pepper moustache. Obviously, McWhiskers didn’t think much about Yuri, so why bother speaking up?

The answer came when he looked over at Flynn. “I know you. You’re Finath’s boy.”

“Mr. McGregor.” Flynn’s tone was relieved as he spoke the name, but Yuri nearly choked on a laugh. Naming the guy McWhiskers had been more on-target than he’d thought. “Yes. It’s good to see you again.”

“What happened?”

Quickly and succinctly, Flynn went over the main details. McWhiskers watched him stone-faced, side-eyeing Yuri only for a moment upon hearing ‘unprovoked’ in regards to the fight. Yuri twisted out of the hold Lewis had him in, though the cop laid a heavy hand on his shoulder as if afraid he might try the same cut-and-run bit Zagi had just pulled. He shoved his hands into his pockets, wincing as the cut really started to hurt, and refrained from trying to shrug off the long arm of the law. Luckily, his patience wasn’t tested for long.

“Though I can’t say I’m all too happy about the company you’re keeping nowadays, I’ll take your word in this instance as your father’s son. Still, we’ve got a zero tolerance policy against any sort of violence this weekend. I’m going to have to ask both of you to leave.”

“ _Lame_.”

McWhiskers strode over and leaned in until his moustache was practically tickling Yuri’s nose. “Son, I am asking you real nice to see yourselves out. I am within my rights to have you escorted out by any of these fine officers present here today, some of which I believe you are already familiar with.”

The hand on Yuri’s shoulder squeezed painfully, then shoved him forward once the senior officer had backed off. Friggin’ cops. He dusted himself off and fell into step with Flynn, heading back the way they’d come. Glancing back, he noticed that McWhiskers was watching them go, and he stopped and turned around.

“Hey, officer! You got a little glitter, right _here_!” He held up a hand just under his nose, wiggling his fingers in a childish pantomime of a moustache.

“Yuri, shut the hell up!” 

Flynn elbowed him hard in the side and stalked off, rubbing a hand over his face. Grinning past the aches and pains of rising bruises, Yuri hurried to keep pace.

“So,” he said, once he was sure they were out of earshot. “You lied to the cops for me.”

“No, I didn’t. I told Mr. McGregor exactly what happened. You could have been a little less antagonis….” He trailed off as he noticed the little spring-assisted knife Yuri had pulled out. “Did you have that on you the whole time?”

“Yup.”

“Yuri….”

“Hey, it coulda been worse.” He pocketed the knife and fixed Flynn with a grin. “At least none of them noticed the combat knife in my boot.”

“Yuri! You don’t really—!”

“No, I don’t really. Chill out. I was just yanking your chain.” 

Laughing a little, he laced his fingers behind his head. The sun was still high in the sky. Half the day was left, but they wouldn’t be spending it hanging with the metal crowd. He studied Flynn out of the corner of his eye, wondering if the offer of friendship was still on the table after the scene he’d caused. Flynn caught him looking. He opened his mouth to say something, then stopped in his tracks.

“You’re bleeding.”

“Huh? Oh. Right.” 

He took a look at the side of his left hand below his pinky where Zagi’s knife had caught him. Wincing, he flexed his fingers and watched as the sluggish trickle of blood fattened up and dripped over his palm and wrist. When he checked, he saw that his other hand was a mess of smeared blood as well.

“Hell,” he grumbled. It was probably in his hair, too. He started to wipe his hands on his shirt, and Flynn grabbed his wrist.

“There’s a water fountain over here. You can wash up.”

He actually led Yuri off to the side of the path and didn’t let go of his wrist until they were standing in front of the fountain. It was weird, having contact between them that wasn’t entirely a result of an argument getting out of hand, and Yuri wasn’t quite sure what to make of it. Smiling crookedly, he waited to see how long it would take Flynn to realize exactly who it was that he was treating like a kid.

That realization came as Flynn was pulling Yuri’s hand under the stream of water, and he let go, yanking his own hands back. 

“Ah, sorry. I, um…I’ve got some hand sanitizer.”

He pulled a little bottle of the disinfectant gel out of his messenger bag and waited for Yuri to finish washing away the blood. The stuff stung when he applied it, and he turned his smirk back onto Flynn. 

“Thanks. Got any bandages in there, too?”

“I have a couple Band-Aids in my wallet, but I don’t think they’re big enough.”

Yuri laughed. He was such a boy scout sometimes, even that smile of his. It was kind of a nice smile, actually, a little bashful, but not out of place, even though he’d seen Flynn lose his temper plenty of times and knew that he was the kind of guy who could kick some ass when he wanted to. It was an interesting dichotomy.

“Hey. You want to see if Estelle’s free?”

“Estelle?”

“Yeah. You’re thinking we could be friends, right? Let’s hang with her for a bit. She can play interpreter.”

“I don’t think we need an interpreter….”

“We have been at each other’s throats since you moved in. I’m calling Estelle.” He pulled out his phone and dialed. As it rang in his ear, he added: “And when I said ‘we,’ I meant ‘you.’”

“Hey!”

‘Hello?’

“Hey, Estelle.” He blocked the slap Flynn aimed at the back of his head with a smile. “How’s it going?”

‘Very well. How are you?’

“Eh, same old, same old. Listen, Me and Flynn just got kicked out of ZaFest—”

‘Yuri! What on earth did you do?’

“If you want to come meet up with us, I’ll tell you all about it.”

‘…Am I going to need to bring bail money? I’m sorry to ask, but after last time—‘

“No, it’s fine. Nothing serious.”

“Just got his hand sliced open in a knife fight,” Flynn commented.

“Shut up.”

‘Wha—‘

“Not you. Talking to Flynn. So…Jasmine sound good?”

‘All right. How soon should I meet you?’

“We’re in the park. Head on over whenever you’re ready.”

She giggled. ‘I’ll beat you there, actually. See you in a few.’

“See you.”

He hung up and caught Flynn rolling his eyes, apparently at his suggestion of meeting place. “The Jasmine Tea House? Was that some sort of bribe to get her to agree to come?”

“Hell no. I want a parfait.”

\------------

Flynn’s face when the waitress brought out Yuri’s parfait was priceless. It was the first time Yuri had ever seen someone actually do a double take. Even Estelle laughed.

He made a show of savoring the first bite, humming appreciatively around it and sucking every last bit of cream off the spoon. Flynn went red as a beet and couldn’t seem to figure out where he should be looking. It was probably taking everything he had to keep from turning the teasing into an all out argument. With him on his best behavior in public and in front of Estelle, Yuri figured he could push his luck, just a little.

“What’s the matter, Flynn? Guys in metal bands with tongue piercings can’t like sweets?”

He didn’t seem to have an answer for that.

“Yuri, stop teasing. You have to admit, to most people, you don’t look like the type of person to enjoy places like this.”

Smiling, she tapped one finger lightly against the sterling sword pendant that hung around his neck. It had been a birthday gift from her a few years back, and was the one piece he wore almost daily. She was right, though. No matter what he wore, he didn’t match the clientele for the Tea House, which consisted mainly of teenage girls. The place was all fruity drinks, frothy coffees, and incredible desserts. Not the sort of place men tended to flock to, but then, it wasn’t like he went there trolling for dates. It was actually a decently quiet hangout most days, the atmosphere of the restaurant serving to keep the volume of the surrounding chatter to a decent level.

Sitting back in her seat once more, she took a sip of her tea and set the cup carefully back into its saucer.

“As sorry as I am to hear that you got kicked out of the festival, I would like to know what exactly happened to cause it.”

“It was all Zagi’s fault.”

“Oh, Yuri. I thought you’d finally parted ways with him.”

“I did. He keeps coming back.” Before he could continue, Flynn butted in.

“How do you know Zagi, exactly?”

“Oh, right. I never did mention, did I? He was my last housemate.”

“You _lived_ with him?”

Yuri smirked. If he didn’t know better, he might have sworn there had been some concern there.

“Not for long. You saw what he’s like, and he was actually showing a bit of restraint today. You know that hole in the living room wall? It’s Zagi’s fault.”

“What, he punched through it, or something?”

“No. He dodged.” His smirk thinned out into something much less pleasant as he remembered. That had been their last fight before Zagi took his shit and left. Yuri had changed the locks that same day.

Estelle cleared her throat, bringing Yuri back to the present. Right. All that was supposed to be ancient history. He took another bite of his parfait as he let the matter rest. When he was about to launch back into the story of what all had gone down at the park, however, he was interrupted by a string of cartoonish clanging and banging noises from his phone.

“Hey, Flynn, you already told the story once today. Go ahead and let Estelle know why the cops kicked us out of the park.”

“Say that a little louder,” Flynn muttered, looking around to see if anyone had been paying attention. He was pretty damn easy to fluster, but now Yuri had other things on his mind aside from baiting his housemate.

|dude just got ur text. didn’t c u @ the fest. sup?|

|cops kikd us ot @thous|

|sweet lol. still wanna hook up?|

|p/u?|

|sure. c u in a few.|

“Yuri.”

He looked up to see Estelle watching him with mild disapproval. “Yeah?”

“I can barely hear Flynn over all that noise. Could you either let Crash know you’re with friends and can’t chat, or turn your phone to silent, please?”

“Sorry. He’s on his way over.” He tucked his phone away, grinning apologetically, and dug into his neglected parfait.

“Thank you. I’m sorry, Flynn. Please go on.”

“Who’s Crash?”

The disapproving look on Flynn’s face nearly got Yuri laughing again. “Friend of mine. You wanna hear how he got the nickname?” 

Flynn looked at Estelle, and Yuri could practically read the unspoken ‘Do I?’ that passed between them. Estelle hid a smile behind her tea, and nodded.

“Okay, so we were at this party, right? And most of us were absolutely wasted, but Crash—Kevin’s his real name—was _gone_. So, a bunch of us were sort of chilling on the couch, and Crash comes stumbling in, and sees the terrarium the guy that owned the house had. He’s so drunk, that he thinks it’s a TV, and he’s going on about how real it looks, like he could actually touch the damn lizards, and the next thing we know, he’s trying to step over the coffee table to get a closer look. Only, he steps about a foot too soon, and ends up tripping himself up and crashing right through the thing. When he went down, he knocked the terrarium over onto the couch. All of a sudden, there’s these little lizards all over the place, and we’re all too damn drunk to catch the zippy bastards, and Crash is just sitting there in the splinters of the coffee table going: ‘This 3-D is so awesome!’ Then, the next minute, he’s out like a light. Just crashed right there and started snoring.”

Estelle’s shoulders were shaking with quiet laughter. “Those poor lizards must have been so scared. Oh, hang on! I still have that picture Judy sent me!”

She rifled through her purse for a moment before bringing out her cell phone. It didn’t take long for her to pull up what she had been looking for and, with a fresh wave of giggles, she held the phone out for Yuri and Flynn to see.

A slightly blurry photo of Yuri was displayed on the screen. His mouth was hanging open, his eyes crossed and unfocused as he tried to look up at a small, green lizard that was clinging to his bangs. Another one was sitting on the rim of the beer he was about to take a sip from. The memory, fuzzy though it was, set Yuri laughing. He’d been badly startled when he’d gone to take a drink, enough that he had actually jumped up off the couch. Both of the lizards had been jolted onto his shirt. One crawled around onto his back, the other actually climbed inside in between the buttons. He’d gone circling through the living room trying blindly to catch his friend’s pets while tiny lizard feet tickled over his ribs. He shook his head as Estelle put her phone away. Never a dull moment when Crash was around.

His laughter quieted and Estelle urged Flynn to pick up where he had left off before they’d gotten sidetracked. As he ate, Yuri caught himself wondering if Flynn would be any fun at parties if he could loosen up. The image of the buttoned-up violinist chilling on a couch with a lizard buddy hanging out on his shoulder flashed through Yuri’s mind, and he snickered, shaking his head at the inquiring looks he received. He half-listened to Flynn as he tried to wash away the mental image with the rest of his dessert.

Even without his full attention, it was obvious that the story was a little different this time. Flynn was letting his exasperation show, for one. He dragged Yuri fully back into the present when he grabbed his left wrist, pulling his arm up to show Estelle the cut on the side of his hand. Quick as he could, he yanked free, but Flynn had a strong grip, and the damage had been done already. Estelle was up out of her seat and at his side in the time it took him to glare at the housemate that had sold him out. Though her touch was considerably more gentle, Yuri didn’t pull away from Estelle’s hands.

“Yuri, you need to go to the police about this! He’s really dangerous. What if he does something worse, next time?”

“It’s no big deal. Zagi just gets carried away if you don’t buy into his delusions. I can take him if he tries something again.”

“But, Yuri…!”

He rolled his eyes and caught a glimpse of his salvation loitering outside the Tea House. Crash refused to set foot in the place, but he didn’t seem to mind hanging around outside like some sort of goatee’d, leather clad, stud-wearing creeper. He was actually pretty laid back, and Yuri hadn’t yet figured out if he enjoyed freaking people out, or if he simply didn’t realize that his appearance could sometimes be a little unnerving.

“Sorry, Estelle, but I gotta run.” 

He jerked his head toward the large glass windows at the front of the Tea House, and stood up when she shifted her focus away from him to look. Laying a few bills down to cover his parfait, he hurried toward escape, waving over his shoulder as he went.

“We’re going to talk about this later, Yuri!”

“Sure thing! Flynn, do me a favor and feed Repede for me tonight, would you? And let him out for a while afterward.”

He could hear the two of them start to talk about him, but he paid it no mind. Really, if he hadn’t been so busy with his music, he’d have texted Crash days ago, back when he’d had that awkward realization the first night he and Flynn had sat down to a meal together. Although the past few days had been almost completely about work and music, tonight was not going to require nearly so much thought.

Outside, Crash greeted him with a grin that had as much mischief in it as good humor and they set off automatically toward his place. As they walked away from the Tea House, he felt an arm slip around his waist and a second later, fingers pinched the skin over his hip. A little thrill of anticipation shot through him, and he shook his head. It really _had_ been too long.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: The characters in this story are from Tales of Vesperia and do not belong to me.

Crash dropped him off at home the next morning, too early for either of them, despite the fact that it was less than two hours till noon. He yawned hugely as he opened the door, and wondered if it was worth the trouble to cook something for breakfast or if he should just crawl back into bed. As if to give him an answer, Repede padded in from down the hall, sat down, fixed him with his one good eye, and barked once. Yuri mock-winced at the greeting, familiar enough after years of living together to know when the dog was not happy with him.

“I asked Flynn to feed you. It isn’t my fault if you let him forget.”

“He was fed just fine,” Flynn called from the dining room.

Yuri watched with growing incredulity as Repede got up and went to him, tail wagging. Flynn was seated at the table, already dressed in slacks and a pale blue dress shirt at ten thirty in the morning. He didn’t look up from his book, though he reached to scratch behind Repede’s ears as the dog sat down beside him, tail wagging. The unexpected solidarity between them as Yuri was simultaneously ignored and stared down was jarring. It felt like he’d just walked into an intervention or something.

Going back to bed was definitely looking like the better option, but he’d never been much for retreating. Besides, he wouldn’t ever find out what the strange atmosphere in the house was all about if he avoided it. Better to have everything out in the open. He slung a chair around and sat down backwards, grinning across the table straight at the crown of Flynn’s head. He could see the part of his hair, a little point all that blond radiated out from, and he reached across the table to poke it. Flynn swatted his hand away with considerably more force than was necessary and finally looked up, glaring.

“ _What_?”

“Jeeze. Touch-y.” He resisted the urge to rub his wrist. It had hit the table pretty hard when Flynn smacked him, and set the cut from Zagi to throbbing. “Who pissed in your cornflakes?”

“Well, what did you expect after you _ditched_ me yesterday?”

“I didn’t ditch you, you were hanging with Estelle.”

“Because _you_ suggested it after getting us kicked out of ZaFest.”

“ _I_ didn’t get us kicked out—Zagi did. And what do you care if I took off? You get along better with Estelle, anyway.”

“That’s not the point!”

“So, what’s the problem, then?”

“I _thought_ yesterday was supposed to be you teaching me about the music you say you care so much about. My mistake for believing you actually gave a damn.”

Yuri stood up, stepped around his chair, and planted one hand on the table and the other on his hip as he leaned in, staring down at Flynn. All the fun had just been drained out of the argument. There were some things Flynn should've learned not to test him on. His devotion to his music was one of them. He'd have thought that night outside Keiv Rock would have shown him as much.

“Sorry your feelings got hurt because our _date_ didn't go the way you'd planned.” He saw Flynn flinch at that, was even close enough to see his jaw tighten around whatever response had first risen to the forefront of his mind. Smirking, he straightened up and cracked his knuckles, looking down his nose at the source of most of his irritation over the past three months. “If you want to step outside, I will be more than happy to help you work out some of that frustration.”

When Flynn slammed his book closed and stood up, it looked like he was going to get his fight. He was a little tired still after last night, a little sore, but he stretched out a bit, swinging his arms in anticipation and no small amount of annoyance. He'd thought they'd gotten past this. He'd let himself believe Flynn wanted to be friends. Should've known that was a bit too good to be true. It surprised him, then, when Flynn simply picked up his book and stepped past, heading for his room rather than the door.

“You don't get it.”

Yuri watched him go, surprised. The slamming of the door jolted him back to normal.

“What don't I get?” He looked to Repede, but the dog had no answers for him, either.

Nearly ready to write the day off and go to bed, a phrase played on base guitar sounded from his phone, alerting him to a text from Judy. He actually fumbled the phone in his haste to pull it out of his pocket and see what was going on. If Judy was headed back to town, there was a chance that she'd make it in time for Dragon Swarm to perform that evening.

|Knock knock. ^-^|

“Fuck, _yes_!” 

He made a dash for the front door, throwing it open to see Judy there with Karol. She walked in past him as Yuri and Karol high-fived in greeting.

“Did you boys miss me?”

“Only if you missed us while you were gone.” He was grinning like an idiot, but he couldn't help it. “So, the show must go on.”

“You didn't think I would let you down, did you? After we've all worked so hard?” She glanced back at Karol who was busily pulling covers off the practice drum kit that took up a corner of Yuri's living room.

“Me? Doubt you? Wouldn't happen. Go ahead and get set up. I'll grab Old Scratch and we can make sure we're ready to _own_ this weekend!”

\--------------

They played for over two hours, going over the songs they’d talked about for their set that evening, and just enjoying the feeling of making something unique together. He let the music revitalize him and drive away the tiredness his morning had started with. He growled out his frustrations and breathed in the energy of the chords and the strength of the beats. He put his all into the jam session and came out purer because of it, without the irritation from his short talk with Flynn or the drag from a late night. He was ready to go, ready to get back to ZaFest and play for a crowd. He wanted to show everyone what Dragon Swarm could do.

They decided to break for lunch, and he and Judy set aside their guitars to put something together while Karol hung back, more than happy to drum up a storm until the food was ready. They were going through the cabinets when Flynn came out of hiding. He passed Yuri without a glance and stopped in front of Judy.

“I want to apologize for what I said outside Keiv Rock. I had no right to take out my own frustrations on you.”

Judy looked from him to Yuri, not even trying to hide her amusement. “So, he does adorable, now?”

Stifling a laugh, Yuri began pulling things out of the pantry. “Sure. I’ve even seen him manage happy. We’re doing nachos for lunch. Black olive and jalapeno good for everyone?”

He got out a block of cheddar and one of mozzarella and passed them off to Judy for her to grate while he chopped up the olives. The sound of his knife measured out a quick, steady counterpoint to Karol’s energetic drumming. Behind him, he could almost feel Flynn hovering in the kitchen, waiting for forgiveness or acknowledgement, maybe. He glanced back and smiled, still buoyed by the energy from practice and no longer bothered by what had passed between them earlier.

“You having nachos?”

“Sure.”

“Cool. Grab a pan and the chips.” Remembering the one time he’d tried the results of Flynn’s cooking, he added: “ _Corn_ chips, not potato.”

“I _know_ how to make nachos.”

Yuri laughed. “Can’t be too careful.”

“Oh, Yuri, by the way.” Judy stole an olive out of the can and popped it into her mouth. “I passed Crash on my way into the neighborhood. Is he still enjoying your piercing?”

He stuck out his tongue and waggled it at her. “A gentleman doesn’t tongue and tell.”

“Did you mention that we’d be playing tonight?”

“I told him we had a slot, but that I didn’t know when you’d be back. I’ll text him during lunch. Flynn, you coming?”

“Have you forgotten that the police were ready to escort us out? I doubt they’ll be happy to see us back. Besides, I’m a little afraid to find out how you could top yesterday’s fiasco.”

“And we’re back to default mode,” Yuri muttered. Louder, he said: “You can’t really call that a fiasco. It was just one unfortunate encounter with an ex-roommate.”

Smiling, Judy stole another olive. “Zagi _and_ the cops got involved? I did miss a lot, didn’t I?”

“Maybe next year, you won’t take a vacation around the first week of summer. Anyway, it’s fine now. I texted The Don this morning to let him know we can play. He said he’d heard about what happened and he’s smoothed things over with the cops. We’re good to go.”

“I think I’ll sit today out,” Flynn said.

“Whatever.”

Yuri sliced furiously through the last of the olives. He’d finally gotten Flynn to start opening up to metal, but because Zagi had to go and spread his crazy all over the place, Flynn wasn’t going to come hear Dragon Swarm the way they ought to be heard. It was frustrating as hell, but it looked like he was just going to have to give up on having a housemate who got it. He wondered how long he could take living in the middle of the cold war that had mostly replaced their open hostilities, and if he’d have to deal with Repede siding against him again. Maybe Flynn would just move out. Asshole.

“I don’t think they need to be diced so fine.” 

Judy was leaning in to peer at the olives that were fast being reduced to their component molecules beneath his knife. He took a breath and got to work topping the chips Flynn had spread over the bottom of the pan with grated cheese, diced olives, and sliced jalapenos. His bad mood had returned, an all too common occurrence when Flynn got involved, but he hoped a little food would get him back in better spirits.

It shouldn’t even be bothering him all that much. He’d known since day one that Flynn wasn’t into metal, and he’d never had a problem with people like that before. He knew metal wasn’t for everyone. That was part of the point. It kept the community small, kept it innovative and like-minded at the same time, as strange as that seemed. He’d always been perfectly happy before that people didn’t get into it halfheartedly. It had never been an issue when someone he knew didn’t care for, or even outright disliked his music. With Flynn though, it had gotten personal, somehow. He was…disappointed. It really fucking sucked.

He texted back and forth with Crash while the nachos were baking, glad to know he at least would be coming to the show. While he hung around the kitchen with Judy to chat until the timer went off. Flynn made himself scarce again. Yuri was coming to expect that when he was in one of his moods. It was probably better than if the two of them got into it in front of Karol. Joy and Rupert were pretty tolerant as far as parents went, but Yuri didn’t want to start testing their limits, not when Karol would be the one caught in the middle.

In less than fifteen minutes, he was pulling a pan of cheesy, pepper-laden nachos out of the oven while Judy called Karol in and passed around sodas. With lunch on the table and his band mates digging in, Yuri was left the unenviable task of fetching Flynn. Sighing, he went and knocked on his door.

“Lunch is served. Better hurry if you want some. Karol’s really pigging out.”

“I am not!”

The door swung open to reveal that Flynn had changed into jeans and a black polo. Although blues suited him, Yuri could really get used to seeing him in black. If he was going to be a moody bastard while they shared a house, he might as well at least be eye candy. He stalked past Yuri without a word, though his demeanor changed suddenly around Judy and Karol, lightening up as he took a seat and helped himself to some nachos. At a loss, Yuri stood just inside the dining room for a minute, watching. Repede came and sat next to him, apparently having forgiven him for the sin of having failed to get away from Zagi before a fight broke out. Flynn was being such a baby over the whole thing. He hadn’t been all that upset when it had happened, so why should it be a problem now? Unless he was mad about something else, but Yuri hadn’t _done_ anything after that.

The nachos were fast disappearing. He took a seat, setting aside his confusion. He could figure out what the hell Flynn’s problem was later when Karol and Judy weren’t around. 

“We’re taking your car down, right, Judy?”

“Yes. Karol’s kit is already packed. Unfortunately, I still have some luggage in the trunk, so if you want to ride along, we’re going to have to take that out and rearrange a bit.”

“If you can squeeze the guitars in, I’ll drive myself down.”

“You can ride with me.”

He whipped his head around to stare at Flynn, thinking he must have heard wrong. “What?”

Flynn swallowed and wiped his hands on his napkin, then met Yuri’s eyes. “We can ride down together. I changed my mind about going. I want to see your band perform.”

…Obviously, he was never going to make sense. Yuri shrugged.

“Sure. After we eat, I’ll get changed and we can go.”

\---------------

There wasn’t any feeling in the world quite like the anticipation of walking out across a stage. They were all different—the height and depth, the way they cradled sounds and focused them, the hollowness of his tread over the empty space beneath—but the feeling he got from the few steps to center stage, the knowledge that he was on display, that his band was with him and their hard work and talent were about to be presented to a crowd for appreciation and judgment, that was the same every time. He went slowly, savoring it. Behind him, Karol and Judy were ready to go, eager smiles stretched across their faces, and Yuri grinned back at them. He looked out past the stage lights at the crowd, at the amphitheater alive with movement and crowned with torches that flared up against the darkening sky. Dragon Swarm might have been the last act scheduled to perform, but they were damn sure going to be a good one. Metal’s first year at ZaFest was going to end on a high note, metaphorically speaking. Yuri pumped his fist up into the air, saluting the crowd with the horns as he roared into the mic. The sound of his voice grew, rough and deep, before petering out into laughter. He felt good. The energy of the crowd felt good.

“You guys think Zaphias knows we’re here?” he shouted. The metalheads answered back as one with a roar of affirmation and assertion. Maybe they weren’t always recognized by the mainstream, but this was their city, too. “Let’s give ‘em one more reminder!”

Karol let it rip on his drums, taking them into the first song of their set. Judy entered into the rhythm on her base, adding layers to the sound, and complexity. The two of them built it up, heavy and fast, playing off each other, complimenting riffs and beats, the sound rolling back and forth like ocean waves, in and out and still growing, something big and looming and ready to change. The melody shifted and Yuri was right there with it on his guitar, part of the song that burst forth from the undercurrent to rise up and be presented on the thrumming, low key tide of notes. He growled into the mic, and let the sound pour forth.

He sang, his voice already gaining some texture from the little bit of growling he’d let tear through his throat. Judy provided backup in a rising and falling scale, her clear voice like a star above the sea as he fell back once more with a growl. Drums and bass guitar took over again, the melody shifting once more, tugging at the audience, notes from Old Scratch plucking at Judy’s voice, trying and failing to drag it down. Karol’s drumming crashed in between them, and those crystalline notes disappeared, gone into hiding. Yuri and Judy played now to accent that furious beat, and it was like a storm over the sea, like crashing waves and cliffs like primordial guardians, and when it calmed, Yuri sang again of things that endured, of might and struggles and the inexorable pull of what could not be denied. Judy’s voice came in low as he sang, skimming along the top of Karol’s steady drumming, then leaping to heights he could not reach as his own voice sank into growls. The drums rose in crescendo, their intensity chasing her higher as Yuri shouted the final verses into the mix, guitar straining to be heard over the roar until all sound save Judy’s final, ringing note was silenced, and then even that faded into the coming evening.

Catching sight of Flynn staring wide-eyed from just beyond the mosh pit, Yuri's grin was specially for him as he shouted his elation into the mic. _That_ , he thought, _is how metal is_ supposed _to be heard._

For the second song, Karol set the beat once more, his playing so fast and the tone of it so low that it was like a rolling peal of thunder. When Judy joined in on bass, adding depth and richness, it became the rumble of the earth itself. Tremors in the form of quick riffs plucked from Old Scratch ran through the beat, but it held strong and steady for the time being, and Yuri drew breath to add vocals. 

He kept his voice rough, trading melody for something raw and guttural. Lines were punctuated with barely intelligible growls accompanied by a faltering of the rumble from Karol and Judy, and followed by small eruptions from his electric guitar. There was a flow in those notes, but it remained largely buried…until Judy’s playing shifted, picking up the rhythm. She was right there when Yuri’s guitar sounded out again, bolstering it, helping it break through to the surface of the song. Karol’s drums boomed and clattered around them, taking up hints of the melody before reforming and smothering it once more. The drums grew louder, heated and furious, but the pressure was building. Judy and Yuri played back and forth to each other ever faster, boiling beneath the beat, straining to break through. The lyrics, barely rising above the fracturing rumble of drums, called to the melody, and when guitar, bass, and drums synchronized, Yuri roared to welcome forth the eruption.

Freed from the heaviness of the opening beat, the melody of the song surged forth in a rush. Karol’s drumming broke apart, a chaotic crash and rumble that was eventually caught up and pulled into the newly emerged rhythm. Lyrics were left behind as the instruments became the only voice among them, the notes gathering and rising, drums feeding off guitar feeding off base feeding off drums in a molten flow that poured over the crowd. Gradually, their playing slowed, cooled, until the song closed with a cymbal clash like a hiss of steam. 

Yuri looked back at Karol and Judy, grinning so wide his face ached with it. They were on fire, at the absolute top of their game. They were why Yuri would always insist that Dragon Swarm was easily better than Parrotoxin. Zagi’s band was about Zagi. His black-suited, goggles-wearing band mates were only there as a backdrop for his own skills. Dragon Swarm celebrated the talents of all three of its members. Each of them worked hard for every show, and put everything they had into each note they played. That was the difference. It wasn’t about technical skill. It was about the musicians. It was about the music.

Dragon Swarm played one more song and an encore, and by the time they left the stage, Yuri was well into a performer’s high. He slung an arm around Judy’s shoulders and ruffled Karol’s hair, grinning uncontrollably. Estelle led her girlfriend Rita and Flynn over to the stage as they began breaking down the drum kit. Crash and the Capels made their way through the departing crowd as well, and the whole group of them got the instruments packed up to carry them back to the car. 

Yuri was in the middle of everything, praising Karol’s performance to his parents and taking compliments with tongue-in-cheek arrogance. He could have done laps up and down the amphitheater steps, but he settled for bouncing among the group slowly making its way out of the park, talking about how well things had gone at ZaFest, what he’d missed on Saturday, and what they ought to do next year. 

Flynn griped about having been knocked into the mosh pit. He’d been shoved around for a while, and when he’d finally managed to make himself heard, shouting politely to be allowed to slip past and get out of the way, he’d been picked up and crowd surfed back to the edge where he’d retreated to the safety of the tiered seating and stayed there through the end of the show. Yuri swooped in to jostle him, poking him in the ribs and teasing him about whether he’d gotten a bit bruised up. Flynn shoved him off, fighting back a smile, but Yuri only closed in again, joined by Karol and Crash to form a mini mosh pit that hustled him back and forth as they made their way up the sidewalk.

At some point during the walk, it was decided that they would all head down to the Black Hole Bistro for an after party, a plan Yuri’s stomach loudly agreed with. They split up temporarily at the parking garage to get the instruments stowed away in whichever car would get them taken back where they belonged. Estelle, Rita, and Crash followed Karol and his parents back to the parking garage to help with the drum kit, and Judy left the boys at Flynn’s car to put her gear away.

Although the walk had cooled him down a bit, Yuri was still in high spirits, and leaned against the side of the car, swaying a little as Flynn got the doors unlocked. The question was on the tip of his tongue, held back only by his uncertainty about the answer he would receive. He fought briefly with himself, fading adrenaline warring with doubt until a rising irritation over his indecision had him thrusting the words between them.

“What did you think?”

Flynn didn’t answer right away. He hit the button to unlock the back doors and shooed Yuri out of the way to get them open and let him slide his guitar case onto the seat. The slam of the door was loud in the garage, and Yuri found that he was beginning to have trouble keeping up his expectant grin as Flynn considered him. He tucked his hands into his pockets, bouncing a little on the balls of his feet.

“Well?”

With a smile, Flynn slipped past him and began the walk back to the street. “You don’t need me to tell you that you’re good.”

Yuri overtook him and turned around, lacing his fingers behind his head and walking backwards.

“No, but I’d like to hear it anyway.” He grinned, liking the way Flynn’s smile went a little crooked when they were getting along.

“If I get into metal—don’t get excited, I said ‘ _if_ ’—it will be because of you.”

“Ha! Karol’s gonna be psyched!” He didn’t miss the frown that flashed across Flynn’s face, nor the fact that his smile, when it returned, wasn’t quite so amused. “What?”

Flynn shook his head. “Nothing. Where’s this restaurant we’re going to?”

The Black Hole Bistro was a hidden gem in downtown Zaphias. Down a flight of concrete steps, it was below the beaten path, with only a small sign to indicate that it existed at all. It had been one of Yuri’s favorite places to eat for years, featuring a small but eclectic menu and big portions. The group trickled in from the street and was shown to a large booth in the back. Yuri wound up sandwiched between Flynn and Crash, and found himself pulled in two directions as they both kept asking questions about the menu. He knew Crash was familiar with the food, and figured he was only asking to poke fun at Flynn. It got old quick, though, and he snatched the menu out of his hands and smacked him on the head with it before scooting a little closer to Flynn.

“Let me see that.” He grabbed one side of the menu Flynn held and pulled until it was centered between them. “Try the pork tenderloin,” he said, pointing. “You’ll like it.”

“Thanks.”

“Sure.”

After that, dinner was a blur of conversation and laughter and good food. Yuri was starved after everything he’d put into the performance and even gave Karol’s growing boy appetite a run for its money as he wolfed down his own dinner and half of Crash’s fries. He even packed away some of Flynn’s pork, though the offer to share had surprised him. Never one to turn down free food, however, he’d helped himself and put it down to a sign that things were going to work out between them. The night was just getting better and better.

Gradually, the euphoria faded away, leaving him tired but satisfied and slumping against the back of the booth as he slurped a milkshake and let the chatter wash over him. Plates were cleaned and the bills had been passed around when Crash rapped his knuckles against the side of Yuri’s head.

“Not crashing, are you? That’s my thing.”

“Nah, I’m good.”

Crash let his hand drop, the backs of his fingers just barely brushing against Yuri’s cheek before settling on his shoulder. “You wanna…?” He jerked his head toward the exit and they shared a grin. It had been a great night so far. Be a shame to let the fun end too soon.

“Sure.”

As they started to slide out of the booth, Flynn reached out and caught Yuri’s wrist.

“Wait. Your things are in my car.”

“It’s just Old Scratch. He’ll be fine till tomorrow.”

Flynn’s grip eased up a bit, but he didn’t let go. “What about Repede?”

“You mind taking care of him for me again?”

“No, but—”

“So, we’re cool? Night’s winding down, everyone’s headed home. I’m not going to get back tomorrow and be accused of ditching you, right?”

That did the trick. Flynn dropped his hand and turned away, though from the look on his face, Yuri could guess he’d be hearing about that later. He got up and headed for the register with Crash. Flynn was definitely a weird one. Maybe he was just annoyed over being expected to care for Repede. It wasn’t like it was that big a deal, but then, it wasn’t his responsibility, either. Whatever. They’d work it out later. He and Crash paid their tabs and left.

\---------------

Yuri got home early the next morning, figuring Flynn might not be in such a pissy mood if he didn’t have to give Repede breakfast, too. He was quiet as he came in, thinking that it was possible even Flynn would take it easy and sleep in during summer break. He was wrong. The house reeked of a strange mix of spices, and he could hear running water and voices from the kitchen. Apparently, Flynn had tried to make himself some breakfast and was chatting while he washed the dishes. He had his phone on speaker, sitting on the counter next to the sink as he scrubbed out a small frying pan.

“…just bothered me,” He was saying as Yuri came in. 

‘Crash is a little silly, but he’s a good person.’ Estelle’s voice sounded tinny from the miniature speakers.

“I know, I just…. I don’t like him. He was practically in Yuri’s lap at dinner. Besides, don’t you think it’s rude how he keeps pulling Yuri away from his friends?”

‘Yuri and Crash are…well….’

“I know. What does Yuri see in him, though?”

‘Flynn…it sounds almost like you’re jealous.’

The noise Yuri’s keys made as they hit the floor was jarring over the steady rush of water into the sink. He stood frozen as Flynn whipped around, eyes wide and mouth agape. Suddenly, his weird behavior made a lot more sense.

Well. _That_ was going to make things awkward.


End file.
